


Tomorrow There'll Be More Of Us

by bzarcher



Series: HamilWatch [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, F/F, F/M, Fish out of Water, Gen, M/M, Mad Science, Major Character Injury / Discussions of Major Character Death in Ch. 13, Multi, Omnic Rights, Resurrection, except the fish can do badass freestyling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: What do you get when you mix mad science, vigilantes, a former Secretary of the Treasury 272 years out of his own time, and a giant gorilla?Winston doesn't know either, but it seems that he'll be finding out.





	1. What's Your Name, Man?

Once Reaper had been revealed as Gabriel Reyes, Winston had wondered what it would take to bring him back to Overwatch.

It turned out that a secret Talon experiment that combined biotic technology with Slipstream manipulation would be it.

The former Blackwatch commander had arrived at the gates of Watchpoint Gibraltar, his shotguns discarded in front of him, towing what appeared to be a very complex coffin.

Morrison had wanted to shoot him on sight. McCree wasn’t much behind.

The fact that Angela had argued for giving Gabriel the benefit of the doubt was a little surprising. The fact that Ana had been the deciding vote to allow him in was downright shocking, but not as shocking as who Reaper claimed he had in the coffin.

That coffin was now sitting on a hastily constructed plinth in Winston’s lab, while he and Angela carefully examined the apparatus. Reyes stood off to one side, his mask removed, smoke gently rising from parts of his body, while Ana and Jack both kept a wary eye on him.

“So this Talon project was attempting to raise the dead?”

“Basically,” Gabriel confirmed, “But not recent dead – we’re talking historical figures. Using the slipstream to somehow…grab them out of time…and then reconstruct their bodies using something like Angela’s staff.”

Angela shook her head, somewhere between impressed and horrified. “I’m not even sure ‘insane’ covers this. But the technology certainly seems to work, based on what I can determine.” She waved her staff over the coffin again, frowning. “The…occupant…is alive, but in stasis. He won’t wake up until we crack the seal.”

“The slipstream components are…crude,” Winston observes, “but functional. I suppose there’s only one way to see if it worked.”

Ana is the one to say what they’ve all been thinking. “But why HIM? You have the ability to bring anyone in history back, why HIM?”

Gabriel shrugged, more smoke wafting off his shoulders. “Someone was a fan of the old musical?”

Jack actually snorted at that. “Like you didn’t make us listen to the original soundtrack a thousand times. Or the 25th anniversary cast.”

Gabriel glared daggers in return. “Because the differences are _important._ That’s not what matters right now, though.”

“No,” Jack admits, “It isn’t. Why did you take an interest in this, anyway?”

Gabriel actually looks away, something like a blush on his face. “Using the combined technologies to rejuvenate dead tissue. I had hoped…” He coughs, and straightens up. “It doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t have worked on me. And once I heard that his next test case was going to be the Maquis de Sade…that was enough of that. I took the head of the project apart, and stole his research - including the first test subject.”

Winston sat back onto his haunches, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well. The only question then…is what we do with him.”

Jack shrugs. “He’s alive, and he didn’t get involved in this by choice. The least we can do is let him out.”

They spent another two days making sure Talon hadn’t left any booby traps, using special injection points Mercy located on the coffin to make sure the man from out of time was fully vaccinated against all modern diseases, and trying to determine the best way to introduce him to the year 2076.

Winston honestly wasn’t sure he WAS the best person to do that, but since he was the only expert on chronal disassociation and the Slipstream available, it seemed he’d be the one to do it.

“All right. Athena, are you recording?”

“Affirmative, Winston.”

He cleared his throat, then adjusted his glasses. “This recording is to document the first – and I sincerely hope only – use of Talon’s resurrection device. The subject within was chronally disassociated from the year 1804, at the approximate age of 49 years old. There are some indications that the subject’s body is closer to a man in his mid-30s. It’s not clear if that is due to some loss of temporal fidelity involved with the process, or a deliberate decision to revive him in a somewhat more…spry…state.”

Crossing the floor of the lab, Winston moved to the head of the coffin, checking a display set in the lid. “Our subject has been in temporal stasis for approximately one month. Life signs are stable, and preventative vaccinations were administered by Dr. Ziegler without breaking the containment field using mechanisms built into the unit.”

Placing a hand next to the control panel, Winston took a deep breath. “I’m going to trigger the release and revival sequence. Here goes…something.”

His finger tapped the bright green button, which then turned red and began to blink. There was a hiss of released air, and the lid divided in half, lifting up before sliding away to reveal the occupant.

His skin was a bit darker than Winston had expected from historical documents. Not the rich caramel of Fareeha’s skin, but something closer to coffee with a healthy slug of cream. Long, dark, wavy hair fanned out to frame his face, and his beard appeared to have several weeks of unkempt growth.

His face was lean, with a surprisingly serene expression, short but with a wiry build, a bit like a whippet hound. Winston shouldn’t have been surprised the man was naked, but he still felt a bit embarrassed.

There was a soft *beep* from what Winston continued to think of as the coffin, and he looked down to check the display.

“Stasis field disengaging in five…four…three…two…one…now!”

The air around the coffin’s occupant shimmered, and for the first time in over two hundred years, the man’s chest rose and fell with a slow, even rhythm.

“We have signs of stable respiration,” Winston stated, increasing wonder in his voice. “Pulse steady. Signs of normal brain activity. It…appears he’s waking up.”

Winston moved to the side of the coffin, gently placing one hand against the man’s shoulder.

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

The man in the coffin mumbled something indistinct, then turned his head towards the sound of Winston’s voice. His voice was rusty with disuse, but became louder as he spoke.

“…can hear you…”

“What’s the last thing you can remember?”

“Shot. Got _shot_. He **SHOT** me!” As the man became more agitated, his eyes flew open, unfocused, searching wildly around him, and tried to sit up. “That _motherfu-_ “

Winston put a placating hand against the man’s chest, easing him back gently. “Careful. You’ve been through quite a lot, I’m afraid. You need to take this slowly.”

The man had closed his eyes again, shaking his head vigorously. “Slow is death. Can’t ever stop. So much I need to do.” He blinked until his eyes had focused, then really looked at who had been addressing him.

Winston tried to look as friendly as possible as he raised a hand in a little wave. “Ah…hello?”

Alexander Hamilton tried to take in the fact that he had gone from lying in a sickbed in New York City, a bullet wound in his chest draining the life from him…to being addressed by a gorilla.

A gorilla with glasses.

To his credit, he only screamed for a few seconds before passing out.

In retrospect, Winston mused, they probably should have expected that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a thing that's happening. Please don't ask what is wrong with me, I have no idea myself.
> 
> Relationships may change and get updated as we go...


	2. Look At Where We Are

The next time Alexander Hamilton woke up, he was being watched over by an angel.

He’d sort of expected that. He’d been shot, after all. He didn’t remember a lot after Burr’s bullet had struck home, but he vaguely remembered being put into a bed while a doctor cut his jacket and shirt away to investigate the wound.

He remembered Eliza’s hand in his.

He thought he could hear Angelica sobbing.

He’d hoped he would see Phillip as the darkness swallowed him up.

Then…it was strange. As if he had been falling through deep water, but still breathing. A deep, melodic voice speaking in the darkness, and a warm hand gripping his shoulder.

The voice asked him questions, and when he had opened his eyes…a gorilla? He’d read about them, back when he was a boy in St. Kitts. None of the tales he’d read had suggested they wore glasses, though.

Or greeted the dead.

Perhaps he had awoken in some form of purgatory? Even after he started attending services, he had never been Catholic, so he wasn’t quite sure.

The angel, though – that made sense! Hair of gold, a white robe, the halo shining with comforting light. Beautiful features, if a bit sharp for his taste.

He couldn’t help but smile as she noticed his eyes on her, and her answering look made him feel warm straight down to his socks.

“This is a bit more like what I expected from the afterlife.”

The angel blinked at him, and her brows knit. “Afterlife?” Something in her accent surprised him – he didn’t know angels came from the Continent. She touched a hand to her halo, then chuckled. “Ah, of course – I see now.”  She crossed the floor to him, and gave a gentle smile. “I’m a doctor, actually. Dr. Angela Ziegler.”

Alexander couldn’t help but smile. “So you ARE an angel, then. Even if you are also a doctor.”

Dr. Ziegler blushed a bit – the old Hamilton charm was working nicely – then took a careful look at his face. “Your pupillary response is good, and you clearly understand what I’m saying. How are you feeling, Secretary Hamilton?”

Alexander raised a hand in a slight wave. “Please, Angela, call me Alexander. I haven’t been the Secretary of the Treasury for almost twelve years.” Then, thoughtful, he looked down at his body, now covered by a dark green bedsheet. “I feel…good. My joints don’t ache. More energy than I’ve had lately. Almost like I’m ten, maybe twenty years younger?”

Angela nodded, then tapped at something Hamilton couldn’t quite recognize with a pen. “Interesting. Do you mind sitting up? I’d like to check your lungs.”

That was simple enough, and the cold metal of a stethoscope against his back made him shiver. “So, if I’m not dead, and this isn’t heaven…what the hell is going on, and where am I?”

“Ah,” Angela hummed thoughtfully before she spoke again, “That is complicated. This may come as a bit of a shock.”

Hamilton snorted. “I survived a hurricane. I survived the War. I survived being stupid enough to publish the Reynolds Pamphlet. I survived _Thomas fucking Jefferson_ …I really doubt anything you say will kill me.”

Angela sat down on a stool in front of him with a very ‘you asked for it’ expression on her face. “All right, Alexander. You are currently on the island of Gibraltar, at a facility known as a Watchpoint. The year is 2076. You had been dead for over two hundred years when an organization known as Talon decided to test a method for resurrecting historical figures by returning you to life. A…colleague…of mine intercepted their plans, and delivered you here instead, where we were able to safely awaken you.”

Hamilton stared at her, his face going slack. His eyes unfocused around the time Angela had said _two hundred years_ , and by the time she was finished he felt as if the entire world had been set spinning. Most of the rest of what she said barely registered outside of ‘ressurecting’ and ‘you’.

Two hundred years. _Two hundred YEARS._ Burr was gone. Jefferson was gone. Angelica was gone. His children were gone.

_Eliza was gone._

He swallowed hard, tears barely kept unshed in his eyes. Took a deep, ragged breath as the weight of it all crashed down on him. He tried to keep the sobs in, but as the doctor wrapped him in an embrace (some part of him realized that, yes, those were golden wings coming out of the back of her strange corset), the tears began to flow. His body shook, and Angela patiently held him, quietly murmuring something soothing in German that his mind was too busy reeling to translate.

When he had finally drained himself dry, she handed him something like a thin paper handkerchief to blow his nose.

“I’m sorry for that, Alexander, but you did ask.”

“No,” Hamilton waved a hand, “no, that was on me.”

His mouth worked silently as he continued to process it all, and Angela backed away, busying herself with updating the resurrected man’s medical records. After she had finished, the looked back to where Hamilton sat, his hands slowly clenching and unclenching.

“Alexander? Can I get you anything?”

Alexander looked up, a new light flashing in his eyes.

“I’ve been gone more than two hundred years. I imagine quite a lot has changed.”

Angela nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“For god’s sake – _bring me something to read!_ ”


	3. A Mind At Work

Winston was shocked at how quickly Hamilton was coming along.

Getting him acquainted with modern touchscreens had taken less than an hour, and even though he occasionally grumbled about it not being the same as the feeling of paper under his fingertips, he had quickly established a spot in Winston’s lab where he could immerse himself in the history he’d missed.

Because Hanzo was the closest to his size, until they could do some shopping, he was dressed in a pair of loose fitting hakama pants, a white t-shirt, and a hoodie with the Overwatch logo that Genji had pulled out of a storage closet. Hanzo had also donated a hair tie to help manage Hamilton’s leonine locks, and McCree had lent a razor, letting him trim his beard into a rather rakish looking goatee and moustache.

At first Winston had simply wanted Hamilton there for observation, ensuring that no unusual aftereffects or chronal phenomenon occurred, but he’d increasingly enjoyed the Founding Father’s presence. He’d asked for pen and paper within minutes of beginning his crash course of study, and the occasional scratches of writing and thoughtful words murmured to himself.

It was a pleasant reminder of older times.

His thoughts wandered, thinking of the man he’d come to consider his father, when Winston was brought back to reality by a pained shout.

“Oh, god _dammit!”_

Turning on his stool, Winston saw Hamilton tossing the pen down on his borrowed desk, the tablet clattering against the metal desktop. He let out a distressing moan, his hands gripping the sides of his hair.

Winston flexed his legs, sliding off the stool and walking across the floor to him in two quick strides. “Alexander? Are you all right?”

Hamilton shook his head, the moan turning to a sound that almost seemed to be a growl. “The sheer _arrogance_. Those fucking _idiots!_ ”

Winston looked over Hamilton’s shoulder to the tablet, quickly reading the chapter title: _Origins of the Omnic Crisis._ Ah.

“Not even a hundred and fifty years after mankind finally – _finally!_ – banned slavery, as soon as we found a way to create new sentient life, we _brought it right back!_ ” Hamilton was almost shaking with rage as he leapt to his feet, his words almost outpacing his feet. “Is it really any shock that the Omnics rebelled? Did they learn nothing from our mistakes? We fought the war – what was it all for?”

Winston sat back onto his haunches, raising his shoulders in the closest he could manage to a shrug. “A man born not long after your time coined a saying – ‘Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.’” That got a bitter chuckle from Hamilton, but before he could respond, Winston sighed deeply. “Technically, mankind actually repeated that particular mistake twice.”

Hamilton turned, his brows raising. “Twice? What do you mean they made that mistake twice?”

Winston smiled a bit grimly. “You’re talking to it.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Hamilton breathed, his mind suddenly making the connection. “Sorry, I didn’t quite grasp that. I’d never actually seen a gorilla...before…so I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”

Winston tried to offer a reassuring smile. “It’s all right – you’ve been doing a remarkable job of catching up.” Returning to his stool, he used his feet to open a jar of peanut butter while his hands deftly peeled open a banana. “Let me explain…”

Twenty minutes later, Alexander had learned the story of the Horizon colony and their eventual fall from grace. He interrupted Winston’s explanations a few times to get terms or concepts clarified as best as the scientist could manage, but for the most part remained silent. His mobile face and expressive eyes communicated quite well enough, moving from surprise, to anger, and finally a deep sympathy as Winston talked about Harold’s death, and his desperate escape to Earth.

“I don’t regret that you’re here,” Hamilton finally said, his voice careful as he finished taking it all on board, “but I certainly regret that Man, in his wisdom, seemed to think nothing of giving you the intelligence to reason, but not the freedom to determine the course of your own life.”

Winston took a thoughtful bite of banana. “Thank you. You’re not the first to feel that way – but I do appreciate it.” He scooped a bit more peanut butter out, drowning a bit of his sorrows in the sweet spread. “I don’t like to speak of it often. Harold…was essentially my father. Losing him still hurts.”

Alexander came over to gently touch Winston on the shoulder. “I spent almost twenty years telling Washington that I wasn’t his son – particularly when he was trying to talk me down from making a mistake – but the day I was told he had passed on…” Hamilton let out a long sigh, “He was certainly closer to me than the man my mother married.”

Winston nodded. “I read a few of your biographies, after Gabriel brought you to us. I got the impression that you were no stranger to loss.”

“Gabriel is the one who seems to constantly smolder? Dresses like a lamplighter?”

Winston grinned at the description. “Yes. He…has a condition. It’s a bit complicated.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes. “It seems to me that almost everything in 2076 is ‘a bit complicated.’”

Winston couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re not wrong.”

Hamilton smiled for a moment, but his expression grew more somber. “The biographers are right, though. My mother, Laurens, Peggy, Phillip…so many who deserved to have long, rich lives went ahead of me, while I couldn’t seem to die.” His voice grew quiet, and he couldn’t quite meet Winston’s eyes. “There is a hole in my heart for each of them. I learned to paper them over, each day I went on, but they’re still there.”

Winston closed his eyes, snuffling a breath out through his nose. “It never stops hurting, does it?”

“No,” Hamilton confirmed, “But it gets a bit easier as you go on.”

The silence lasted a long moment before Hamilton turned back to the tablet. “I suppose I should finish this.” He looked thoughtful as he began to turn the page. “I think I should like to speak with an Omnic, sometime soon.”

Winston felt surprisingly grateful for the change of topic. Turning back to his workbench, he felt oddly excited to see what would happen when he fulfilled Hamilton’s request. “I would be happy to arrange that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously channeling some Alexander Hamilton right now. Every time I have a spare moment I start writing a bit more of this down. I don't think I'll be putting up double updates every day, but for now enjoy the product of my manic state!


	4. I Don't Pretend To Know

The more Hamilton caught himself up on the time he’d missed, Winston and Angela had begun to plan the best ways to introduce him to more of the residents of the Watchpoint – and the rest of the world. (They agreed very quickly that Hana (and the Internet) should be one of the last he was introduced to - and to keep him away from Junkrat and Roadhog for as long as possible.)

Since Alexander had asked to meet an Omnic, Zenyatta was an obvious choice for one of his first introductions, and the monk’s unflappable calm seemed like a good balance for Hamilton’s relentless energy.

(Angela had asked Athena to track his sleep habits, and had been horrified to see an average of 4 hours a night. Even worse had been Hamilton assuring her that was completely normal for him.)

“So,” he’d asked as Zenyatta floated serenely above the floor, “can you explain this concept of the Iris to me? Most of the material I’ve read was written from a human perspective. I’m interested in yours.”

The monk had nodded, gently taking one of the orbs from the mala around his neck and turning it slowly in his hands. “Were you a religious man in your previous life, Alexander?”

Hamilton shrugged. “Not particularly, in my youth. I attended services for my mother’s sake.” He takes a slow breath, exhales, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “After Phillip – my son – was killed…I took it a bit more seriously. I suppose I probably had a Christian burial. Eliza would have insisted.”

The orb floated towards Hamilton, glowing with golden light, and his entire body seemed to relax, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden relief.

“I apologize for disturbing painful memories. There will be time for those, and I would be pleased to help you deal with them, but it is not what you wished to speak to me about.”

“It’s a fair question – it’s important to know if there’s a common frame of reference.”

The omnic didn’t have a mouth, but something in his bearing seemed pleased by that answer.

“Just so. The Christian faith speaks of a soul, as the Shambali do, but we take a broader view. Science teaches us that energy can be generated, but never destroyed. It simply takes new forms, transmitted from one state to another. So it is with the spirit.”

The orb returned to Zenyatta, and Hamilton had begun taking a few notes as the monk spoke. “I’m listening – please go on. This is fascinating.”

The monk dipped his head, slowly levitating the orb from hand to hand. “All life, then, has a soul. It may change state, and form, but it is still there.” The orb stilled in midair, balanced precisely between them, and Zenyatta gently tapped it with one finger. “When a body ends, the energy which gave it life must go somewhere – changing from an energized state to a resting state. We believe that the Iris is that place. All life flows from it, and so all life returns to its light, becoming one within it until the time comes that we are born anew.”

Hamilton was unable to resist touching the orb. The metal was surprisingly warm, and oddly comforting. “So, how do I fit into your beliefs, Tekhartha?”

“Your spirit was called to this time,” Zenyatta explained, his voice gentle. “I personally find that quite fascinating. A miracle, truly.”

Hamilton shrugged. “A madman’s abuse of science, from what Angela and Winston have told me.”

The orb returned to the mala, and Zenyatta folded his hands together, his head bowing in a way that Alexander associated with prayer. “A miracle may have a scientific explanation – but it remains a miracle.”

That got a thoughtful ‘huh!’ out of Hamilton, and Zenyatta took his leave.

* * *

Winston wasn’t surprised at all that Hamilton was instantly charmed by Mei. In his experience, everyone loved Mei.

It also didn’t hurt that the climatologist had some experience with becoming unstuck in time.

“I keep a journal,” she confided as they ate lunch one afternoon. “Trying to keep track of things I missed, especially if I think they might be important later.”

Hamilton thought about that as he struggled with the chopsticks that had accompanied their steaming bowls of rice and meat. The bright red sauce was spicy – different from the curries and peppers he’d eaten growing up in the Carribean, but tasty – and he was enjoying the vegetables that came with it, even if he didn’t recognize half of them.

“I’ve always written things down as I studied,” he finally admitted, “but most of my letters and journals were of a political nature. Even when I did observe the world around me, I was writing my way towards something – or trying to write my way out.”

Mei smiled. “Sometimes it’s good to take a moment to just appreciate the world around you.”

“Just look around, and see how lucky we are to be alive right now?”

Mei laughed. “That’s right! Did someone show you the play?”

Hamilton blinked. “What play?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Heh. Heh.


	5. Who Tells Your Story?

Alexander Hamilton wasn’t stupid.

He could tell that his new friends had been dancing around several things – not surprising, given the gulf of years he’d leapt across. He knew there were more people in the Watchpoint than he had met, for example. Brief sightings out windows, too many dishes in the kitchen to account for, and occasional sounds of footfalls or voices outside his door when he tried to sleep.

For the most part, he’d accepted there were probably reasons for this, and he hoped to discover more as time went on.

But something about what Mei had let slip was nagging at him.

_Did someone show you the play?_

Someone had not. In fact, Hamilton now suspected that several someones had very scrupulously avoided any mention of the play – though Winston did bring up the fact that several biographies had been written about his life. (He’d deliberately not asked for copies of those when Winston had shown him how to use his tablet. Alexander was fully aware of the bad decisions he’d made in his life. He didn’t need to read a total stranger’s opinion of them.)

Still – there was a play. A play that was well known enough to be a touchstone, apparently, and he’d inadvertently quoted it.

Time to see just what that was about.

After Mei’s gaffe at lunch, he’d allowed her to divert the conversation on to other tracks, finishing the meal and eventually claiming he could use a bit of a nap.

Walking into the quarters he’d been assigned, he closed the door and engaged the locking mechanism as he’d been shown by Angela, on the day he’d been released from her clinic.

“Athena? Can you hear me in here?” He had seen Winston speak to the disembodied intelligence this way, so there was a reasonable chance…

“Yes, Secretary Hamilton. How may I help you?”

Hamilton smiled as he sat on his bed. “First, by calling me Alexander. As I said to Angela, I’m not the Secretary of anything at present.”

“Of course, Alexander. What else did you need?”

He swallowed slightly before speaking. “Do you have the ability to display moving pictures in this room, like the tablet I use in Winston’s laboratory?”

“I do. A display is concealed in the wall opposite your bed. What did you wish to see?”

Alexander’s eyes flashed as a dark rectangle revealed itself on the facing wall. “I understand that there’s a play about my life.”

“There have been several theatrical and musical productions about the American revolution, in which you are mentioned or appear as a supporting character, and one major biographical production which has been re-produced several times on Broadway.”

“I believe that’s the one I wish to see. Can you present it for me?”

“There is an archival recording of the original cast which I can access, and modern holographic presentations of the most recent revival. Do you have a preference?”

He hadn’t expected it to be this complicated, honestly. “Ah…the original, please.”

“Very well. I should note that Winston and Dr. Ziegler had both flagged this file to alert them if you accessed it.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “Did they? That’s…interesting. But I’m not accessing it, am I? I’m asking if you could access it.”

There was silence for a long moment.

“Your request could be interpreted that way, Alexander.”

“Athena, I would very much appreciate if you interpreted it exactly that way.”

“Very well.”

Alexander didn’t know if she could see him, but he offered the ceiling a warm smile, regardless. “Thank you, Athena.”

“You are welcome. Shall I begin playback?”

“Please.”

The room’s lights automatically darkened, and the display brightened into life before the music of the overture began.

* * *

Alexander was just starting his third replay of his namesake musical when a cloud of fog poured through the register.

That was alarming, but the fog solidifying into the shape of a hooded man was downright shocking. He’d backed up on the bed, reflexively looking for something to defend himself with, but came away with nothing more intimidating than a pillow by the time the man had turned to see what was playing on the screen.

“Huh. Wondered how long that would take.”

Hamilton blinked, then tilted his head. The man seemed quite solid – and the more he looked it seemed to be the ‘Gabriel’ who Winston had mentioned. The one who he’d caught glimpses of, and – yes indeed, he did seem to be trailing wisps of some form of smoke.

“What the _fuck_.”

His intruder chuckled, but there was an odd echo to it – like a man laughing down a drain pipe. “You missed dinner, and your door was locked. Angie was worried, so she asked me if I could make sure you hadn’t done something stupid.”

Hamilton stared at Gabriel for a moment before the last thing he said caught up to him. “And have I done something stupid?”

Gabriel shrugged. “You were bound to find out eventually – and I can understand why you’d want privacy the first couple of times you watched it.”

Hamilton nodded. “It took me a few minutes to understand some of the words. Athena was able to give subtitles until I started to catch on.”

“And?”

“’And’ what?”

Gabriel gestured at the wall, where Athena had paused the production’s opening number. “What did you think of it?”

Alexander made a slightly painful noise. “They got…quite a few things right. Not everything – I’m sure there were decisions made for the sake of dramatic license – but quite a few.” He was grateful for the dimmed lighting – it made it less obvious that his eyes were still red and puffy from weeping.

The actress playing Eliza hadn’t looked a thing like her – too tall, her face too narrow, her hair color too dark…but her words had captured the spirit of his Betsey so perfectly that it made his heart ache. Angelica’s quick wit and fire. Gilbert’s brilliant energy, Hercules’ enduring courage.

 _John._ Sweet, dear, brave John lost for such blatant stupidity.

When Phillip appeared in the second act, his heart was ready to burst. The choice to have Laurens and Phillip portrayed by the same actor made perfect sense, but at the same time it tore him apart.

He’d spent most of the first viewing in tears. The second had been easier, but worse at the same time, as he picked up on nuances and details he’d missed from the first. Even though he’d steeled himself for the third time around, he doubted he would finish it with a dry eye.

Somewhere in Alexander’s silent reflection, Gabriel had drawn back his hood. The man’s face was patchy – almost piebald. His eyes were an unsettling shade of red that almost seemed to glow from within, but they were also filled with a surprising sympathy.

“Yeah,” he observed gruffly, “that’s about what I expected you to say. How many times have you watched it so far?”

What he wanted to reply was something along the lines of _what the Hell happened to you?_ , but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Hamilton answered the question he had been asked. “This was going to be the third.”

Gabriel grunted. “Kitchen should be empty now. You should go have some food before you pick it up again.”

“Why should I do that?”

“I’ll watch with you, when you come back.”

“Why should I care about that?”

“Because I’ll bring beer.”

“…I’ll go get something to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lams is canon. Fight me.


	6. Let's Have Another Round Tonight

True to his word, Gabriel was waiting for Alexander when he’d returned with a small bowl of baked beans and a few slices of ham on a paper plate.

“Is that all you’re eating?”

Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t know what a lot of the foods you eat these days are – quite a few of the containers I found were labeled in languages I can’t even read. This, I knew what to do with.”

Settling on to the bed, he took a spoonful of baked beans – cold, Gabriel suddenly realized, and mentally kicked himself for not following to show the reincarnated man how to use the microwave – and smiled with something that was almost nostalgia. “There were plenty of nights at Valley Forge where this would have been a feast fit for Washington himself.”

Gabriel made a noncommittal sound, but Hamilton seemed quite happy with his meal, so he supposed that it didn’t matter too much. They could always give him some cooking lessons later – god knew he’d had to teach Jesse how to feed himself properly, once upon a time.

“So,” Alexander said as the first act began, “I learned that your first name is Gabriel, but I was never properly introduced.”

Gabriel looked over, then blinked, slightly embarrassed. “No, I suppose we weren’t. Winston was trying to be fairly cautious about not overloading you.” Extending a hand, he tried for as non-threatening a smile as he could manage. “Gabriel Reyes.”

Hamilton offered a firm handshake, and smirked as he sang “Alexander Hamilton” in a pretty decent rendition of the musical’s hook, getting a surprised laugh from Gabriel. “Please, spring that on Winston tomorrow – and let me watch.”

Alexander’s smirk turned to a wicked grin. “I believe that can be arranged. I also understand I have you to thank for my arrival here.”

Gabriel shrugged. “In a sense.”

“I also gathered that you’re supposed to be dead.”

Gabriel glared for a moment, then relented. “You really are a bit too damn smart for your own good.”

Hamilton shrugged. “Your name came up quite a bit in some of the more recent histories I’ve read.” He paused, and the silence quickly became awkward. “The man who was responsible for my…recreation…for lack of a better term. Did he do something similar to you?”

Gabriel blinked. “What?”

“I wondered if you might have been a victim of one of his experiments leading up to whatever process he used on me. It would explain your, ah, condition, as Winston put it.”

“Oh.” Gabriel almost wanted to laugh. It wasn’t a bad theory, honestly, given that Hamilton wasn’t familiar with some of the less public history. Didn’t have any baggage. He was assuming the best of him – seeing him as a fellow victim.

It was kind of nice, actually.

“No,” he finally continued, “I went through something different. But it was part of the reason I didn’t want to leave you with Talon.”

Hamilton clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I see.”

Gabriel noticed that the playback had paused again while they talked. “You don’t have to keep stopping the video, Athena.”

“Video,” Hamilton said softly, and grabbed pen and paper off his nightstand, writing that down. “So that’s the word.”

Gabriel winced again. _Dios mio_ , how much did they take for granted that Hamilton didn’t even have words for?

As the opening number finally finished, Hamilton didn’t speak up for a bit, and when he did, the offended tone in his voice was hilarious.

“I didn’t PUNCH the bursar.”

“mmhmm.”

“…I might have pushed him. That was different.”

“Of course.”

It became a pattern – Hamilton reacting, Reyes responding – occasionally snarking, sometimes more sympathetic – through the end of the first act.

“Would you hold it there a moment, Athena?” Hamilton waited for the video to stop, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Gabriel looked over. “Need to use the bathroom?”

Hamilton shook his head. “Not yet. I had a question for you.”

Gabriel grimaced. Most of the questions he expected to get weren’t ones he wanted to answer. Maybe he could leave the beer in the fridge, wraith through the vent, make it up to the roof or out to the hangar….

“I know why this is important to me,” Hamilton gestured at the screen, surprising him. “Why is it so important to you?”

_Oh._

Gabriel shifted a bit. Somehow that was even more uncomfortable than what he’d expected, but he finally put his mouth in gear.

“Back when this first became a hit, they started on Broadway, but after a while they set up a couple other performing companies in other parts of the country. Part of the deal was that they did performances at night for paying crowds, but they also did shows for schoolkids during the week.”

Hamilton nodded, so Gabriel went on, deliberately focusing his attention on the screen.

” _Mi abuela –_ my grandmother – was going to school in LA when they started there. At the time…she wasn’t really in a good place. Most kids from the ‘hood –“ he blinked, then looked over to Hamilton. “Do you know that term?”

Hamilton snorted. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. Keep going.”

Gabriel grinned. He kind of liked Hamilton being a wiseass. “Anyway. A lot of the kids she grew up with ended up working dead end jobs, gang banging, or pregnant. From what she used to tell us, she was well on her way to that when she saw this show for the first time.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow.

“This…it _saved_ her. She looked at the people on stage and realized for the first time that she wanted to be something else. She started paying attention in school a bit more. Took drama classes. Found out she had some talent.” Gabriel’s voice got softer as he let himself go back to memories that Reaper almost never let himself touch.

“She was never famous – but she found work. Nothing huge, but she always had enough to put food on the table for mama and _mis tías_. It was good. After I came along, any time there was a touring company coming through town, she’d buy tickets and take us.”

Gabriel’s eyes didn’t water anymore, but Hamilton’s were wet enough for both of them. “Gabriel, that’s…I’m honored that it touched her that way. I appreciate you telling me that.” He gingerly reached out to give Gabriel’s cloaked shoulder a light shake. “Thank you.”

This was getting a little too real. “Yeah,” Gabriel grunted as he stood up, “no problem.” He crossed the floor to the little mini-fridge, and pulled out the six pack he’d promised.

“Thought you might want these for Act 2, all things considered.” After he’d sat back down, he showed Hamilton how to work the pop-top, then handed a can over. He’d cracked it open, then gave the container an experimental sniff.

“ _Ugh_. Is this what you do to beer now?”

Gabriel gave him a confused look as he swallowed a mouthful. “What?”

“I can smell all those _hops_ – it smells like they dumped half a bushel into this. And the color – why is it so pale?”

“I’m sorry, are you complaining about the free beer I gave you?”

Hamilton grumbled, but he took a healthy swig. “I suppose it could be worse.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll buy you a Guinness next time.”

“They still make Guinness?”

“Mhmm.”

“Huh.”

As Act 2 went on, Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Hamilton got quiet, and started drinking more. He didn’t think Alexander had gotten drunk, really, but it seemed like the buzz from four beers was helping him get through it. By the time the final curtain fell, he was a bit melancholy, but not as weepy as he’d been before.

“I think that will be enough for tonight,” Alexander declared, looking up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Athena.”

“Think you’ll be OK tomorrow?”

Hamilton laughed. “I wrote most of ‘the other 51’ while half in my cups…or hungover. I’ll be fine.”

Gabriel snorted. “Not really what I meant.”

“No, it wasn’t. But I’ll be fine. Really.”

Gabriel nodded, tugging his hood back up over his face as he stood. Feeling a bit more comfortable with his face obscured, even if the others knew perfectly well who he was, he unlocked Hamilton’s door. “Might as well come to breakfast tomorrow. If you can deal with me, you’re ready to meet everyone else, regardless of what Winston thinks.”

Hamilton smiled. “I would like that. Good night, Gabriel.”

“ _Buenas noches.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two dead guys having beers, as you do.


	7. I Walk These Streets Famished

Alexander hadn’t been lying to Gabriel when he said he would be able to deal with his hangover. But perhaps he’d misjudged how long it had been since he’d _experienced_ one.

His head rang like a bell, and a hot shower didn’t do much to help. (Though how nice was it to have hot showers without needing to build a fire first?)

Still grouchy, he dressed in some casual clothes that had been picked up for him in town, and went to find the kitchen. Whether or not he met anyone else there, food would do him good.

Voices came from the dining area as he approached – he thought he could recognize Angela’s high, clear tones, but there were other voices that seemed quite unfamiliar. He didn’t think much of it until he appeared in the doorway, and all of the voices stopped.

Blinking a bit owlishly, he swept the room with a glance. Winston was absent (Alexander suspected he mostly ate in his lab, given the way it was set up to accommodate him), but Angela was standing near the door to the kitchen, holding a mug of something that was gently steaming.

Mei was at a table with a younger woman with features that seemed similar – another from the Orient? – speaking to a darker skinned woman he tagged as likely Indian.

Zenyatta sat at a table with someone who he assumed was another Omnic, given his construction, and a young man with dark locks and coffee colored skin. Perhaps someone else from the Caribbean? He noticed a pair of men in odd costumes at another table (why was the one only wearing half a shirt, and why was the other wearing that ridiculous hat?), while Gabriel sat alone, at a table as far away from the others as possible.

The diversity of shapes, color, and dress didn’t really bother him – he lived in New York, for God’s sake! – but there was one thing which immediately caught his attention, and in his disgruntled mood, nothing stopped him from voicing it.

“Why is everyone in the future so God damned tall?”

He hadn’t been a terribly tall man in his first life, but he felt positively Lilliputian among these people.

No one seemed to know quite how to answer that, but Angela finally spoke up. “Better nutrition and prenatal care, generally.”

Hamilton grunted – he hadn’t actually expected an answer – and pointed to the mug that the doctor was still cradling. “Coffee? Or tea?”

“Coffee,” she replied, “but there is hot water for tea in the kitchen as well.”

He gave her what he hoped was a grateful nod, then made his way to the kitchen. What greeted him there were two pots sitting on the countertop, a truly mammoth specimen of a man wearing an apron, and a white haired man with some form of mask holding a plate of what appeared to be pancakes.

Hamilton shrugged and went to the cupboard where he’d found mugs last night. Coffee first. Food second. The rest would tend to itself.

The larger man laughed at a volume that made Alexander’s head feel like it was being squeezed in a vice, then clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Good morning! I had thought you were taking your meals with Winston! I shall have to make something extra for you.”

Something in his bearing – and that accent - reminded him powerfully on Von Steuben. (Are all Germans that damned loud? Or was he just particularly unlucky?) Still, there was no point in being rude.

“I decided to take matters a bit more into my own hands. Could one of you please tell me which of those pots has coffee?”

“Black lid,” the masked man offered, his voice rough. Hamilton nodded, then poured himself half a mug, drank it down with only a slight wince for the temperature, and refilled. He’d take the rest at a bit more leisurely place – and with luck his head would stop pounding soon as well.

As the larger man returned to cooking, his companion looked back into the dining area. “Seems you caused a bit of a stir.”

Looking through the doorway, Alexander could see Angela stalking – there was no other word for it – to Gabriel’s table, the set of her shoulders radiating annoyance.

“Strange. Gabriel had told me she wanted him to check in on me last night. He did just that.”

The masked man shrugged, apparently not willing or able to offer much else. Turning back to the cook, Alexander cleared his through slightly. “Could you please bring whatever you’re making for me out to the dining room?”

“Of course,” he boomed in reply, “I shall create a proper feast for you, my friend!”

The masked man grumbled something about ‘inside voices’, and Hamilton just counted himself lucky he didn’t bite his own tongue when he’d winced at the noise. Turning, Alexander went back into the dining room, where Angela’s free hand was gesturing wildly in the air.

“-thought you would simply use your abilities to check on him _quietly_ , not…not… _debauch_ my patient! Honestly, Gabriel, I cannot _believe_ –“

“I assure you, Doctor,” Hamilton interrupted, “Gabriel provided a vehicle – and good company - but I alone was responsible for my intent.”

Both the doctor and her victim turned to face him, Angela still furious, it seemed, and Gabriel rather amused, given the smirk and salute he offered Hamilton from behind her back.

“Your mental and physical health are of great concern to us, Alexander! For you to isolate yourself and then begin drinking to excess –“

Hamilton snorted. “Four beers was hardly ‘excess’, Angela. I thank you for your concern, but by any measure you care to apply, I am most certainly over the legal drinking age.”

The man in the broad brimmed hat laughed at that. “Got ya there, Angie.”

“Jesse? Would you care for me to remove your other arm?”

The younger woman sitting next to Mei snickered. “Boom, roasted!”

Alexander smiled at the byplay. His headache was easing, and for all the ire radiating from the doctor, the general sense of banter and camaraderie was pleasantly familiar.

“I have to admit,” he deflected, “the coffee is better now. Back in my day it was really more something we drank for political message than for the taste.”

Angela blinked, not really following the change of topic. “Excuse me?”

Alexander waved her towards Gabriel’s table, and sat. “The more the crown taxed tea, we started drinking coffee instead. But it wasn’t much aside from being able to open your eyes. Too bitter. This is better! It’s more pleasant to the tongue, and the aroma is more inviting than threatening.”

Angela sat slowly, a bemused confusion on her face. “I suppose the techniques for preparing the drink must have improved since your time.”

“And – ah, thank you!” A plate of pancakes, stacked with maple syrup was deposited on the table, and Alexander smiled to the masked man as he handed over tableware. “Pancakes seem about the same – but always a welcome sight.” Alexander made a show of cutting a bite and chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “Yes. Quite tasty – my compliments to the rather boisterous cook.”

Angela didn’t seem to know how to reply to that, but Mei’s friend took up the challenge. “So you’re saying they had pancakes back then?”

“Of course we did!” Alexander actually felt a bit offended by that. “What kind of things do they teach children today in school? Washington used to eat them for breakfast almost every day we were in camp.”

“No _way_ ,” the girl crowed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirmed. “He liked his smaller, though, and instead of pouring syrup on them, he’d soak them in a little bowl of syrup, then roll them up and eat them that way.” Hamilton had sort of hated that, actually – it smacked of excess in a way that infuriated him as a younger, poorer man, but it wasn’t as if he was going to tell his General and patron not to eat his pancakes the way he liked.

“That is _so weird._ ”

Angela rolled her eyes at the tableau, her anger cooled. “Thank you, Hana, that will be quite enough.”

“Fiiiine, _mom_.”

Hamilton considered teasing the doctor about that – but decided to finish his pancakes instead. After all, they were quite tasty.

Looking back to him, Angela finally laughed softly. “Well. It seems there was no harm done, so I suppose I will let things be. Since you’ve made your grand entrance, would you like to be introduced properly to everyone?”

Hamilton smiled. “That would be lovely – but let’s take care of it after breakfast.” 

And, Alexander thought to himself, once he was introduced to the others, perhaps he could try to find out why none of them seemed to trust Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Washington thing is real, btw! The things you learn while trying to make sure that pancakes were a fairly common breakfast food in the 1700s. Same with coffee being a "crude" drink, mostly consumed in protest of tea taxes than for pleasure.


	8. The Challenges You're Facing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little different here - I may continue it for a bit. Do let me know if people like it?

After Alexander’s decision to introduce himself to the rest of the team, Winston had come up from his lab (with some prodding by Athena) to see how things went.

He was surprised by how easily the resurrected man took to the various members of Overwatch. He’d seen how easily Hamilton had carried on with himself and Zenyatta, but he seemed entirely unfazed by everything he was suddenly presented with.

After most of the team had left to go on with their day, Winston had complimented him on his _sangfroid_ as they walked back to his lab.

“They’re all people, Winston. It’s not as if that’s changed in two hundred years.” Hamilton laughed a bit at himself. “The prosthetic limbs of my time weren’t nearly as advanced, mind you, but I knew plenty with them thanks to accident or misadventure.”

Winston chuckled, but kept at it. “Still, you were quite good with everyone.”

Hamilton grinned. “It probably helps that they saw me barge in, hungover and demanding coffee. I’m just a person, too.”

“Yes, I suppose it does,” the scientist agreed as they reached the lab. “So, any plans for today?”

Alexander surprised him a bit when he offered a rather rakish grin. “Actually, yes….”

Once again, the Founding Father had taken Winston by surprise. His request was as straightforward as it was unexpected: To start speaking, one on one, with different members of the team, to help get a picture of what Overwatch was now, and to start writing essays that might be published in an attempt to help with repealing the PETRAS Act through winning the hearts of the public.

“It’s hard to fight for the rights of others,” he noted, “when you’re struggling to keep your own ass out of jail.”

Winston had grunted at that. “I suppose you do have a bit of experience there.”

“So, can you ask everyone if they would speak to me? Will you let me help?”

Winston grinned. “Would I be able to stop you if I tried?”

* * *

When Hanzo had been asked to speak with the man from another time, he wasn’t quite sure what to think. Since he was not an American, Hamilton’s status as a founder of that country meant little to him.

His origins from several hundred years ago were interesting, but the man’s connections to Talon, however unwitting, made him more suspicious than anything.

What surprised him was how formal Hamilton looked, sitting at a desk with a massive pad of paper and a pen to hand. Dressed in a dark set of slacks and a bottle green colored waistcoat over a white shirt, his hair slicked back and tied into a ponytail, it was oddly intimidating.

Tipping a pair of glasses up on his nose, Hamilton smiled, breaking up the imposing impression he’d created. “Mr. Shimada – may I call you Hanzo? Thank you for coming by.”

Taking a seat, Hanzo offered a nod of greeting. “Hanzo will be fine.”

“Good. So – I may as well get to the main question: What does the new Overwatch mean to you?”

Hanzo didn’t even think before he spoke: “Redemption.”

“Interesting.” Hamilton wrote, the sound of pen on paper surprisingly restful despite the speed his hand moved across the page. “Because of your brother encouraging you to join?”

Hanzo frowned. “You know this already.”

Hamilton looked up, his eyes meeting the sniper without flinching. “I know what was in some of the files I’ve read, and I’ve spoken to your brother a bit, but not about what happened between you.”

Hanzo felt bile rise in his throat. “Then you know what I have done.”

“You think I should be angry at you?”

“I killed my brother.”

Hamilton put his pen down, and sat back in the chair. He looked at Hanzo thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I’m not angry at you, Hanzo. How much do you know about how I died?”

Hanzo shrugged slightly, his voice still tight. “I understand you were shot.”

“Yes. In a duel with a man who at one point was one of my best friends – even though we never could seem to agree on a damn thing. Who felt I had insulted him, and because neither of us were willing to bend our necks, we pushed each other into a situation where neither could back down gracefully – so we drew pistols.” Hamilton sighed, and looked down at his notes. “I know about being in a situation where the only way out is through someone you care about.”

Hanzo worked that over silently, and after a long moment asked a question of his own. “Do you blame your friend?”

Hamilton’s eyebrows rose. “Burr?” Hanzo nodded, and he shook his head. “No, not anymore. At first – yes – because I thought we were both going to end things peacefully. Fire the pistols in the air, declare honor satisfied, and move on. But with the benefit of hindsight…I began to understand how badly I had backed him into a corner, and I understood that I was just as much to blame for what happened.”

 “If you had lived – what then?”

Hamilton shrugged. “Impossible to say, but I like to think we would have tried to reconcile. I learned that not long after I died, he suffered the loss of his daughter. I wish I could have been there to mourn with him – to offer what comfort I could, having lived through the loss of my own child.”

“Perhaps that is what I am trying to do,” Hanzo admitted, “in my own way. I cannot unmake the past. Now…by coming here…I can try to make something better. For Genji - and for myself."


	9. The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander continues learning a bit more about the new world he's found himself in - and about the people who surround him.

“Family,” Lena – Tracer, as she seemed to prefer being called – said almost before she had finished sitting down in the chair.

Alexander had to admit he liked Tracer. For one thing, she was the only member of Overwatch shorter than he was. For another, her constant energy, even in light of her own circumstances, was inspiring.

“Because of how Winston worked to save you after your accident?”

To his surprise, the young woman shook her head. “Even before that, luv. I didn’t really have much growing up in a Council Estate…Dad said he was gonna go look for work in Spain when I was barely old enough to walk – never came back. Mum…she wasn’t that interested in having me around.” Tracer shrugged. “All I ever wanted was to leave. Got an offer to join the RAF after taking my A-Levels, and it was better than layin’ around watching EastEnders.”

Hamilton took a few notes off that. “Your accent suggests you grew up in…Shoreditch?”

Tracer actually snorted. “Hoxton, thank you very much.”

“…your name is Oxton and you’re from Hoxton. Was that someone’s idea of a joke?”

The younger woman made a face, sticking out her tongue “I didn’t get a vote.”

“I suppose not. So what made Overwatch different from the RAF?”

Lena bit her lip for a moment. “In the RAF, I was part of a squadron, but there wasn’t…I was appreciated for my talent, and for what I could do in the air, but there wasn’t much connection past that. But from the first day I came to Overwatch, they were interested in me.”

“Ahh.” Alexander nodded. He could understand that…the difference between being the orphan boy who balanced his landlord’s books, and being _Alexander_.

“After what happened with the Slipstream,” Tracer admitted, “it was hard not seeing myself as a freak. But Jack, Winston, Angie…even Gabriel. None of them ever treated me that way. They made me feel safe. Special. Helped me see the positives, not the negatives.”

Alexander nodded. “Rising to the occasion?”

“Yeah, exactly! I mean…I’m not kidding about the world needing more heroes. I wanted to show that I could be one, too.”

Hamilton put a few more notes down, then frowned thoughtfully. “Most of what you’ve said comes out of the old Overwatch – before it was disbanded. Has anything changed for you, with coming back together?”

The younger woman actually took a few moments to think about that. “In the first Omnic Crisis, things seemed simple. Protect people, stop the attacks on cities. Knock out Titans and go shut down the omniums. But when we learned that most omnics didn’t want any part of the war – that the God Programs had been basically driving them against their will…” Tracer shook her head. “Things got a lot less black and white. Much as I wish it was just goodies and baddies…the world’s a lot more complicated. So I just try to keep doing what I think is right – and hoping that when it’s all over, everyone can find a way to live together. To be what they want to be, and not have to be afraid all the time.”

Hamilton’s hand is flying as he tries to capture it all. That might be one of the longest speeches Tracer has made since he’s met her. “That’s a steep challenge you’ve set for yourself.”

“Too right,” she admits, blowing an errant lock of hair away from her forehead. “It’s not easy to convince someone who lost their family to a Bastion unit that the omnics living down the road mean no harm. But if we don’t try, who will?”

* * *

Even out of her angelic rainments, Angela Ziegler looked…well, heavenly. Wearing a white top and dark skirt that calls to mind the color scheme of her Valkyrie suit, she had taken off her lab coat when she arrived at Hamilton’s “office”, leaving it hanging on a coat peg.

“Good afternoon, Alexander.”

Alexander’s noticed that he’s often smiling, the more he adjusts to this world that he woke up in, but that smile widens a bit when talking to Angela or Winston. After all, they’re literally the first friends he made here.

“Hello, Angela. Thanks for making the time to stop by.”

“I could hardly refuse – and I have to admit it is good for me to get out of the lab.”

Hamilton let his grin turn just a little wicked. “Really? I would have thought that Lieutenant Amari would be doing everything in her power to get you…out of the lab.”

The blush that rises up Angela’s face is quite adorable. It’s a bit of a shame she’s taken, really. Not that Alexander had allowed that to stop him in a few cases in his former life, but he’d gotten no impression that such advances would be welcomed.

Besides, he was reasonably sure that Fareeha could snap him in half.

“I’m sure you didn’t arrange all of this to ask me about my love life.” It’s not the sharpest retort Alexander has ever received, but he mimes a strike to his heart anyway. “How is your project going?”

“Quite well,” Hamilton admits, gesturing to several neat stacks of paper sitting beside him. “This has been a fascinating experience – and it’s nice to get to know everyone a bit more.”

Angela smiled, settling in and giving Hamilton an appraising look. “So what would you like to know about me, Alexander?”

“I’m starting each of these conversations the same way – asking how you feel about being in Overwatch.”

Angela was silent for a long moment, then let out a long breath. “Conflicted, honestly.”

Alexander’s eyebrows rose. “No shit?”

“No shit,” she confirmed. “Overwatch...the first Overwatch…was shut down for a reason. Sometimes I wonder if it should have remained so.”

Alexander’s lips pursed thoughtfully as he wrote. “From what I’ve learned, it seemed that many people put the blame for what happened at the feet of Blackwatch – or Gabriel, directly.” He was fishing, if he was honest with himself, but he was genuinely curious how she would respond.

“It wasn’t just his fault.” Angela’s face pinched, slightly, and the skin around her eyes tightened with pain. “Yes, Blackwatch was carrying out operations that were unethical – but Jack was blind to more than just Gabriel’s flaws. Towards the end, Overwatch was used more as a private army at the command of the Security Council’s members than as the force for good it was intended to be. Too many missions had private agendas. When the investigations and hearings began after the bombing in Geneva, I learned how many ‘additional factors’ had really been involved in most of our operations.” The doctor shifted, as if her chair was more and more uncomfortable. “We were no longer out there to help those in need. We were there to _exert control._ ”

For once, Hamilton wasn’t writing. His attention was raptly focused on Angela’s face, his mind whirling as it absorbed this information. “Then why return?”

“Because I want to keep us from repeating our past mistakes,” Angela’s voice was firmer, now, her spine straightening. “Because I want to make amends for my own unwitting complicity – and my own actions.” Her eyes swept downwards, and that faint blush returned as her eyes softened. “Because I lost one family to war. I will not lose another.”

Alexander gently reached across the desk to place a hand on the doctor’s, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I can understand that.”

* * *

Alexander had gone to the garden, taking a break from interviews or still more catch up reading, when “Soldier: 76” had come to speak with him.

“Hamilton,” he intoned gruffly, looking awkward as he put himself into something like a parade rest, while Alexander sat on a bench between the vegetable garden and the flowerbeds.

“Hello, 76,” the founding father replied, “or should I be calling you Jack?”

Despite the mask, it was obvious the man blanched at being called out. “Dammit. Does everyone know?”

Alexander shrugged. “No idea – but I’ve been doing my research.” Shifting to look directly at the taller man, he began to tick points off on his fingers as he spoke. “You move like a man twenty years younger than your apparent age. You seemed intimately familiar with “Reaper” in footage I’ve seen, even before he was revealed to be Gabriel Reyes, used Overwatch style tactics when fighting, and your height and built match the files on Jack Morrison.” Giving a slight smile, he tried to make an effort to keep his voice light. “I may be a bit out of practice with the law, but I still know how to build a case.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Morrison took a seat on a facing bench, then removed his mask with a snapping sound. “I guess it’s a bit obvious when you put it that way.”

Alexander shrugged, his eyes taking a good look at Morrison’s scarred, weatherbeaten face. He’d wondered how much of the mask was a disguise, and how much to conceal injury. He’d seen worse – but perhaps some of the wounds were more than skin deep.

“I didn’t want to talk to you, really,” the former commander admitted, seeming to take great interest in a row of carrots. “Especially after you seemed to be making friends with Gabe. But Angie and Ana encouraged me to get my head out of my ass.”

“I’d imagine they made quite the formidable pair.” Alexander sat up a bit straighter. No pen and paper, dammit, but his memory would have to do. “So why does talking to me make you uncomfortable?”

“Wasn’t really looking forward to having to rehash some of my biggest mistakes.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed, as a few things began to line up. “Do you count Gabriel as one of those mistakes?”

Morrison’s jaw tightened as he flinched, an answer in and of itself.

“You mentioned that being friendly with him bothered you. From what I can tell, you used to be inseparable, and now you rarely sit on the same side of a room if you can avoid it.” Hamilton tilted his head a bit, trying to look into Morrison’s eyes. “It’s not just about what happened in Geneva – or even afterward, is it?”

“No,” Morrison breathed. “We got tangled up in each other a long, long time before that.”

“And now....what? You feel guilty for still caring about him? Angry that he’s trying to make amends?”

“You don’t know what he’s done,” Morrison countered, “or what he’s capable of.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Alexander admitted, “not beyond what I’ve learned over the past few weeks, anyway. But I do know about hurting someone I loved, incredibly badly, and how she hurt me in turn.”

His voice grew quieter as he continued, his throat tightening. Morrison wasn’t the only one who didn’t enjoy rehashing his greatest mistakes. “I know about feeling your heart break for someone you’re still angry at, and I know what it feels like to be told that you’ve been forgiven, but never forgiving yourself.”

Morrison’s jaw worked, fists clenching as he picked through that, and for a long moment Alexander wondered if he was going to leave the garden with a black eye. But the former Strike Commander slowly let his hands relax, swallowing hard before he trusted himself to talk. “Pretty blunt talk for someone who was famous for never shutting up.”

Hamilton shrugged. “You’re a soldier, Jack. In my experience, that often means that short and to the point is the way to go.”

“That’s fair,” Morrison admitted, then looked back at the vegetable garden. “I don’t know. There was a time when I trusted him with everything. When I couldn’t imagine not having him there. But we both changed – and honestly, after Geneva, we both went a little crazy. When I first started operating as 76…I didn’t really think much about what was in my way. I just wanted answers – and revenge. I caused a lot of damage. Hurt a lot of people. It took some pretty rough moments to realize how far I was falling…and then suddenly Winston was trying to do it all again.”

Hamilton kept a careful eye on the larger man as he spoke, his gaze sympathetic. “So who do you think you are now, Jack?”

It was Morrison’s turn to shrug. “I still want some answers – but I don’t know about the rest. By being here…it gives me a chance to put things to good use. To try doing things the right way. I used to say Jack Morrison died in that explosion – but it’s not quite that simple, is it?”

Alexander looked away. “Surviving never is.”

Before Morrison could say anything else, there was a loud beep from his discarded mask. “ _아빠_ _,_ _you’re supposed to be helping make dinner!”_

“I guess that’s it for now,” Morrison sighed, then snapped the mask back into place, touching a hand to the side of his head. “I’ll be there in a minute. Just start getting ingredients together.”

Alexander couldn’t hear the reply, but he could see Morrison’s body language relax. Before he could leave, Alexander stood as well, brushing a bit of dust from his slacks. “You’re welcome to stop by again, Jack. In my ‘office’, or whenever you feel like talking a bit more.”

“Thanks.”

As he turned to leave, Hamilton put a hand on his arm. “For what it’s worth…Gabriel’s been a helpful friend, since I started speaking to him…but nothing more.” He smirked just slightly. “He’s not quite my type.”

He had the distinct impression Morrison was rolling his eyes at that last bit, but he took the rest a bit more seriously. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaaah, so pretty much all of these started going one direction and ended in another. 
> 
> I swear to god I'll write something happy again, eventually.


	10. We Keep Living Anyway

Gabriel had been dreading Alexander wanting to talk to him about Overwatch.

Even though he genuinely liked hanging out with the man, and had taken some pleasure introducing him to some of the things he’d missed over the last couple of centuries (his reaction to the entire concept of “Hot Pockets” had been one for the books), he also knew exactly how smart the little bastard really was, and he had no doubt that Hamilton was going to know exactly which questions Gabriel didn’t want to answer. So he'd been trying to stay out of Hamilton's way as long as possible, and hoped that Alexander would move on to easier targets for a while.

To his surprise, Ana was the one who came looking for him, instead.

There was a spot on the main Watchpoint building’s roof, facing the western cliffs, which Gabe had always liked to watch the sunset from. Sometimes Jack had joined him there, sometimes not. A few times he’d even slept there, trying to use the sounds of the sea to help quiet his doubts and nightmares.

“I always did like this spot,” the sniper observed as she settled down next to him.  “It reminds me of better days.”

Gabriel had been making an effort to be a little less threatening, trading his cloak and mask for a hoodie and jeans, most days. It wasn’t like his identity was a secret anymore, and he’d surprised himself at how little he wanted to go back to Talon – or anywhere else. The anger that had been driving him for so long had slowly bled off, the longer he’d tried to fight them, and he felt emptied out, not sure what would – or could – fill the space left behind.

He tried just giving a soft grunt of agreement, hoping that Ana would take the hint and leave him be.  Instead, she looked over, a glint of something Gabriel couldn’t quite define in her eye.

“Hamilton seems to be adjusting well, doesn’t he?”

Another grunt. The man certainly was dealing with coming back from the dead better than he had – but on the other hand, he hadn’t been dealt quite the same hand.

“He apparently figured out Jack’s identity the other day.”

Gabriel blinked. That happened faster than he’d expected. “How’d the boy scout take that?”

“Not terribly well,” Ana admitted, drawing an amused snort, “but they talked for a bit. From what Jack told me, you came up a few times in the conversation after that.”

He looked down at his hands, the mottled grey and brown skin tightening as they slowly clenched and released. A few wisps of smoke rose as his concentration slipped, and he yanked hard against the cloud of nanotech with his mind, trying to draw himself back together. “I’m sure _that_ went well.”

Ana shrugged. “Well enough. He gave Jack a few things to think about, at least.”

Gabriel smirked despite himself. “At least he didn’t talk for six hours.”

The Egyptian woman rolled her eye at him. “I wonder if we should just watch one of the cast recordings with him at the next movie night, so everyone can get the jokes out of their system.”

Gabriel shrugged. “It seemed like he was finally able to watch it without things hurting so much, towards the end.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ana admitted. “So – how much are you hurting right now, watching us, Gabriel?”

Part of him was so fucking tempted to just wraith and drop – he’d probably be able to hold himself incorporeal long enough to keep from breaking his legs – but he also wanted…shit, he didn’t know. This was nice. Kind of.

“Some days are worse than others,” he finally admitted after a long silence. Besides, if he tried to run, Ana would probably just hit him with another one of those damned sleeping darts. “I hated you so much. All of you. All of this. For being alive. For being dead. For coming back. For moving on, while I’m trapped like this.” He waved a hand at himself, relaxing his control just a bit, letting go of the constantly dying flesh in his fingertips, watching them evanescence away before regenerating them again, the warm flesh slowly turning grey and sickly again.

“I wanted to wipe it all away. Kill until it was all just a bad memory. A story I could finally bring to an end, before trying to find some way to just…stop.” His voice sounded like a rusty grate, an aching pain spreading through his face from tear ducts that no longer worked properly. “But there are times I see everyone, and I miss it. I miss having a family. Having a reason. Miss you, and Reinhardt, and that ingrate with his stupid hat…”

Ana slowly reached over, placing a hand on his leg. “And Jack?”

Gabriel couldn’t meet her gaze. “Yes,” he whispered, “and Jack.”

“I think he’d like to talk to you, soon.”

“Jack? Or Alexander?”

Ana hummed slightly, just a dry trace of amusement in her voice. “Both, probably.”

“I don’t know if I can answer what either of them is going to ask me, Ana. I really don’t.”

Ana shrugged. “Then just listen to what they’re saying, instead.”

Gabriel sighed, a long column of smoke wafting away from his mouth. “I need to eat soon.”

Ana’s eyebrows rose at the apparent change of subject. “I don’t think you’re talking about going to the kitchen.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You may have noticed the Watchpoint doesn’t have a rat problem anymore.”

“Interesting. Does it help?”

“Some.” He didn’t know exactly why he needed to consume “souls”, or “bio-electric fields”, or whatever else you wanted to call it, but it lessened the pain. Made it easier to keep control. He didn’t get much from the rats, or the occasional rabbit or macaque that he’d found inside the facility’s grounds, but they added up. Not as good as what he got from a single human kill, but…

“Angela would probably find that helpful. You know she’d like to help you, too.”

Heat spread through him, and his voice thickened with anger. “Angela can keep her hands _to herself._ ” He might be able to be in the same room as Mercy without seeing a bright red mist, these days, but he wasn’t about to be her guinea pig again.

“We’ve all made mistakes we regret, Gabe.” Now Ana’s voice is the one filled with emotion, though hers seems more tinged with regret than anger. “We lost sight of what we were actually here to protect, and just kept running ahead anyway.”

Gabriel didn’t really have an answer for that. He’d been lost a lot longer than any of them, after all.

Ana stood, her cloak rustling around her, and put a hand on his shoulder. It felt like she wanted to say something more, but after a long moment she settled for simply squeezing gently, trying to communicate all the words that neither of them could quite manage to say.

He barely heard her footsteps as she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who seems to have no control over this fic anymore?
> 
> (it me.)
> 
> Apparently this is just going to go in directions I didn't expect and drive me nuts for a while. Sorry. It seems like they've got some idea of what they're doing, now, and I don't get a vote.


	11. Righteous, Desperate Hate

Three months after Alexander had been awakened in the year 2076, Talon finally came looking for their stolen property.

He’d been sleeping in his room when a breeze off the ocean had wafted through, the chill rousing him from dreams he couldn’t quite remember. Pulling his covers tighter until he suddenly realized that he hadn’t left his window open.

The woman standing at the foot of his bed was wearing some kind of bizarre mask, covered in red lenses, and had a rifle held deceptively loosely in her hands, clearly ready to fire.

 _“Bonjour, monsieur Hamilton,_ ” she purred, her voice low and throaty. “I did not expect that you would have been taken out of your box, but I suppose there are always complications.” The gun barrel rose slightly, gesturing for him to get out of bed. “You will be coming with me – perhaps Talon will find some use for you.”

Hamilton didn’t bother to retort, throwing himself off the bed instead, a sharp crack of gunfire leaving a smoking hole in his pillow and a ringing in his ears.

Before the assassin could traverse her rifle and fire again, he gathered his legs under him and sprang at her, hands balled into fists.

He didn’t know who this woman was, and she apparently didn’t know much about him. He might not be a trained martial artist, like some of the Overwatch members he’d seen sparring or working out, but he’d been a soldier – practically invented guerilla warfare, in his day – and before that he’d been an orphan on the streets of Nevis, where you didn’t live long if you didn’t learn how to fight dirty.

The woman’s breath exploded out of her when his shoulder struck her middle, and once they were both on the ground he put a short, hard punch into her side. Her grunt of pain told him that he’d gotten something soft, and he gave a short bark of laughter before she attempted to kick him away. He turned enough to keep her boot from striking his kneecap, but Alexander knew he’d have a wicked bruise there soon.

She used the momentum of her kick to arch her back and then spring upright, but he kept close, keeping her from retrieving her rifle, and finally managed to get a good hit on that mask, cracking one of the lenses (and possibly his fingers, from the sunburst of pain he felt, but no time for that now). The mask opened like a flower, exposing an angular face that probably would have looked quite pretty, under different circumstances, but Alexander couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, he took the opportunity given to him, and drove his good hand up in a hard uppercut to her jaw, putting all his weight behind it, and knocking the woman back to the ground.

Without even thinking about it, he snatched her rifle from the floor, reversed it, and then drove the butt into her face. There was a wet snap, followed by a gush of shockingly red blood from her obviously broken nose as he brought the gun back, ready to strike again if needed. His lungs heaved for air, the adrenaline draining off and replacing it with a burning ache as stood over her for a long moment, waiting for her to respond, but it became clear he’d knocked her out cold.

Lights snapped on, and just at that moment both Gabriel and Angela burst through his door, one holding a massive handgun of some kind, the other a long staff. Gabriel was dressed much as he usually was, but Angela was in a long white nightgown, her hair partially down, clearly having been woken herself.

“ _Was zur hölle?!?”_

Alexander was suddenly aware how he must look, clad in nothing but pajama pants, his hair askew and holding down on an unconscious woman.

Who, in good light…seemed to be blue?

“Widowmaker,” Gabriel growled, and his body…rippled, for lack of a better word, suddenly becoming clad in the dark cloak he’d worn before, a white mask of what seemed to be bone forming over his face, his voice gaining a deeper rasp. “I’ll go find her support team. Tell Winston to make sure that damned coffin is secure.”

Athena’s voice responded to Gabriel’s orders within moments. “I’ve woken him. The lab is on lockdown.”

Gabriel – Reaper, now, Alexander supposed – nodded, and disappeared out the window.

Angela, on the other hand, knelt down to gently examine Widowmaker’s broken nose. “Tch. Was that really necessary?”

“I find it a little hard to restrain myself when someone’s doing their best to kill me,” Alexander grumbled, but he dropped the rifle onto his bed. “So – I take it you know this woman?”

Angela’s face dropped, and her eyes were distant as she replied. “Once, perhaps.” She stood, sweeping the room with a glance. “Do you have a belt handy? I’ll need to restrain her until she can be placed in a holding cell.”

Alexander was burning to learn exactly what the story was there, but he understood it wasn’t the time. Going to his dresser, he quickly grabbed a pair of belts, and helped Angela secure Widowmaker’s arms and legs.

Once that was done, the doctor stood, and gently turned his injured hand over. “I’ll need to set your hand before I try to heal it, or these fingers won’t recover properly. You’ve broken the index and ring finger, and I’m fairly sure you cracked your carpals as well.”

He winced, despite her best attempts at care, but nodded. “It’s been a while since I was in a bare knuckle fight. I suppose I’m out of practice.” He’d have her look at his leg when they got to the clinic. “Will someone be coming to collect her?”

Angela looked up to the ceiling. “Yes, that would be for the best. Athena?”

“Reinhardt and Tracer are en route, Angela.”

It took a few minutes for the two to arrive, Tracer looking oddly drawn as she looked down at their prisoner, still quite unconscious. Once they’d carried her off, Angela had nearly dragged him to the medical bay, placing his hand in a sleeve of some kind before using her staff to treat his broken bones, and judging that the bruise on his leg really needed ice more than nanotechnology.

He didn’t hear anything more about the ‘support’ that Gabriel had left to find, but he’d returned to the Watchpoint by morning reeking of gunsmoke, and Hamilton supposed that was an answer in its own way.

Winston was relieved to report that no one had tried to breach the lab (the working theory was that Widowmaker had planned to head there after securing Hamilton), and aside from the prisoner in the basement, it seemed the morning would go on as planned.

“Do you get attacked here often?” Hamilton wondered over a plate of eggs a few minutes after Winston and Angela had briefed the other Overwatch members. “Everyone seems remarkably calm.”

McCree chuckled dryly from across the table. “Not terribly often, but it seems like you had things handled. Maybe we ought to work on signing you up.”

Alexander shrugged. “I was a soldier before. I still know how to fight, but I’m trying to apply myself a bit differently, this time around.”

“Still, I saw what Widowmaker’s face looked like before Angela put the worst to right. You fought like a goddamn wildcat in a chicken coop.”

Alexander’s brows knit as he tried to make sense of that last sentence. “…do people actually say things like that?”

“No, they do not.” Hanzo interjected dryly from beside the former Blackwatch gunman.

The way McCree’s face fell was almost comical. “Aw, c’mon, sometimes.”

“Movie dialogue is not how actual people speak. We have had this argument.”

“Ain’t my fault you’ve never been down to my neck of the woods,” McCree grumbled.

Alexander had the feeling this was a very, very old argument indeed, and decided to change the subject. “So, this…Widowmaker. She is part of Talon, I take it?”

“Yeah, sorta,” McCree drawled out, then took a sip of his coffee. “It’s…complicated. It ain’t exactly my story to tell.”

Hamilton was intrigued, now. “Who, then?”

* * *

Alexander had his writing supplies under one arm and a disposable cup of tea in each hand as he came off the elevator. Walking towards the large door marked “INTERR / HOLDING A”, he was thankful it was one of the self-opening doors, sliding out of his way so he didn’t have to make a complicated maneuver for the handle.

Widowmaker was asleep in the only occupied cell, her nose re-set, her weapons and mask removed. Dressed in a loose beige top and pants that did nothing to flatter her bizarre skin tone, but at least were more sensible than the ridiculous outfit she’d worn to break in.

“Oi,” Tracer called quietly from a folding chair she’d set up to face the cell. She still looked…off. Nothing like her usual self at all, Hamilton thought.

“I brought tea,” he explained quietly, handing over one cup before bringing over another chair. “I thought you might appreciate some company.”

Tracer – no, Alexander realized, this was Lena, rather than the persona she wanted to show everyone – took the cup with a wan smile, then inhaled a bit of the fragrant steam coming off it. “Thanks. I could use it.”

He let her drink about half the cup before he spoke. “Has she woken up?”

Lena shook her head. “Nah. Angie dosed her with enough to knock over an elephant before she tried fixing her nose. She’ll probably be out a few more hours, at least.”

“I suppose that was the safe way to go about it,” Alexander agreed, then propped his pad of paper against one knee. “So.”

Lena grimaced a bit. “Suppose this was coming.”

Hamilton shrugged. “When I asked who she was, aside from that ridiculous name, all I was told was I should really speak to you.”

Lena sighed, fingers coming up to rub the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?” She finished her tea, then walked over to dispose of the cup in a wastebasket before she spoke again, her usually bright voice hushed almost to a monotone. “Her name was Amélie, once. Amélie Lacroix.”

Alexander didn’t push the younger woman. She clearly needed to get this out in her own time.

“She was one of us – sort of. Her husband, Gérard, was part of Overwatch. Helped train a lot of us. Brilliant, gentle, kind man. Knew how to make you laugh when you needed it, and how to help you cry when the tears wouldn’t come.”

Hamilton wrote a few notes, just to help fix this in his memory, but he had a feeling this story would stick with him regardless.

“Amélie used to be a dancer. Ballet. Graceful, beautiful, and so _alive_ ,” Lena’s voice broke on the last word, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. “She’d light up a room just by being there. You couldn’t tear your eyes away.”

Lena looked away, seeming to need a moment to figure out what she wanted to say. “Have…you run across the term ‘polyamory’ yet?”

“No,” Alexander admitted, “but aside from being a tragic mishmash of Greek and Latin I think I understand what you’re talking about.”

“Technically,” Lena continued, “what we had would be called a polyfidelitous relationship. The three of us…it was like finding a piece of ourselves we didn’t know we’d been missing. In theory we could have sussed things out if we’d found someone else who we felt that kind of connection with, but we never needed to. It was…we were…enough for each other.”

“Oh,” Hamilton breathed, and now it was his turn to look away. “Well, God knows I’m in no position to judge. If anything – I’m envious for you.”

Lena’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he admitted. “We never…Laurens…” Alexander swallowed hard, unexpectedly seized by the ghosts of his own past. “In our last letters…Eliza and I both invited John to come to New York. To be with us. Not in so many words, but…I’d loved him since the first we met, and even though Eliza had been...upset, when I confessed to her…after a few visits she understood, too. You couldn’t meet John and _not_ fall a little bit in love with him. But by the time the letters reached him, he was gone.”

 _In a stupid battle that never should have even **happened** , _some part of his mind screamed, and it felt as if one of the little holes in his heart had torn open again for the first time.

“Oh god,” Lena looked stricken, the little bit of color she’d regained draining from her face. “I didn’t…I’m so sorry.”

Alexander shook his head. “Anyway. If such things had been more common, back then, perhaps we could have avoided quite a lot of trouble, later on.” He let out a bitter little laugh. “Or maybe I’d have fucked up even more spectacularly. I suppose I can never know.”

“Yeah,” Lena admitted, “that’s familiar territory.” She looked back at Amélie, and sighed. “When I had my accident…when I left…it was hard. Neither of them knew what to do. Gérard ended up throwing himself into his work – which turned into a one man crusade against Talon.”

“I can understand that,” Hamilton confessed. “I did much the same after John’s death, and after Phillip…trying to repair what I had so stupidly damaged wasn’t quite the same, but…”

Lena nodded. “Amé didn’t know what to do. She finally went back to dancing – performing instead of teaching. One night after a show, best as we can figure, Talon had someone waiting in her dressing room.”

Alexander felt his stomach sink. The woman he’d fought had seemed nothing like what Lena described, and he had a feeling why, now.

“They took her,” Lena continued, her voice almost mechanical again. Alexander remembered a popular poem that Phillip had read to him, not long before his death, of a cursed mariner who could not stop telling his tale of woe. “We don’t know exactly what they did, not for sure, but the person who came back wasn’t really Amélie. If I’d been there, instead of trapped between god knows where and god knows when, maybe I could’ve…” She bit her lip, then shook her head sharply. “Anyway. They thought it was just shock – Talon had kept her captive almost six months – but it wasn’t. A few weeks later, they found Gérard in his bed, shot dead in his sleep. Amélie was gone, presumed dead as well.”

Hamilton looked at the woman in the cell. “But she wasn’t…”

“No,” Lena shook her head. “Not exactly. They did…things to her. Things to make her a better sniper. Screwed with her heart. Messed with her brain more. The changes to her skin, obviously. Did something to her eyes, too– they used to be green. Talon found every last bit of the light inside of her and stamped it out. Gave her that bloody name and those stupid fucking tattoos and sent her out to wreak havoc.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to come back, and learn all this.”

Lena shook her head. “Tracer just made herself promise that she’d do everything she could to find her – to try to bring her back, somehow. Because Lena couldn’t…couldn’t handle it. Didn’t know where to even begin to deal with it all.”

Hamilton frowned. “That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

“Oh, it’s not.” she snorted. “Angie…she’s tried to help. But there are days when it’s so much easier to just be Tracer, and I’m not strong enough to stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” Lena closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath. “After I got back in harness…anytime I – I mean Tracer - fought her, it seemed like Widowmaker would change. Stopped being quite so cold – got angry. Frustrated. Like there was something stopping up the works.”

“You think that Amélie is fighting what was done to her?”

“I have to,” Lena confirmed softly, “I have to believe she’s still in there. That there’s something left. I swore to Gérard’s grave that I’d find a way to bring her back. For both our sakes.”

They sat in silence after that, and Alexander felt a cold, hard anger grow like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.

The more he learned about Talon, the more he hated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah, so that also happened. 
> 
> Remember when this was going to be pretty light hearted and short?
> 
> Widowmaker's blood is exceptionally red because the only way I can think of that she can't be DEAD (aside from the fact that bodies don't work that way at all anyway) is that it's hyperoxygenated to make up for the ultra slow heartbeat.
> 
> Lena is not really in a good place, right now, and it's questionable if she'll ever be 100%. Sorry. :( Angela's worried about her too.
> 
> Gabriel / Reaper's quick change trick is what happens when you're about 75% nanotech and 25% wooj. If he really practiced, he'd probably never have to buy clothes again.
> 
> (And yes, that Cabinet Battle #3 reference in the title is awful intentional.)


	12. Let Me Tell You What I Wish I'd Known

A few weeks after Widowmaker’s failed raid on the Watchpoint, they did in fact do a movie night featuring Hamilton’s namesake musical.

Ana had very firmly insisted that everyone attend – even Lena, who had been spending almost every day down in the cell where her former lover was kept, sometimes with Angela, sometimes not. When Alexander had asked after their progress at breakfast one morning, Lena had just shrugged. “She doesn’t try to kill Angie the minute she walks in the room, now.”

Hamilton sipped at his coffee and made an encouraging ‘hmm’.

“She called me Lena yesterday,” the girl admitted shyly. “It’s a start.”

Angela had apparently arranged for Athena to pipe the movie down to the cell, too, but they had to admit it was a bit of a shame the assassin would miss out on some of what Ana had lightly referred to as ‘the commentary track.’

Couches had been arranged around a large screen that Alexander suspected was used for mission briefings, much of the time, and over the course of a half hour after dinner had been put away and dishes finished, the various Overwatch members filtered in by ones and twos.

When Gabriel came in, dressed as casually as he could manage, he wasn’t surprised to see Hamilton sitting at the largest couch in center of the room. He’d already heard Alexander’s reaction to the show, but the others hadn’t. Apparently Hamilton had decided sitting were everyone would have a good shot at hearing him was a smart idea.

After strongly considering just standing in the back, Gabriel decided to just bite the bullet and sit on Alexander’s left.

“Hey.”

“Gabriel.”

“You can call me Gabe, you know.”

Hamilton smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

To Gabriel’s surprise, Jack actually took the seat to his left, offering a brief nod. They hadn’t really talked since the attack, but it seemed like Jack was avoiding him a bit less. Gabriel hadn’t really thought about how the others would react to him leading the hunt for the remaining Talon operatives after Widowmaker's capture, but it seemed to have bought him some acceptance.

That was kind of nice, even if it made him think about how fucked up it was to earn their trust by killing the _right_ people this time.

Reinhardt practically occupied an entire couch by himself, laying across it with his head propped up on one arm, and Ana had curled up against his broad chest when she arrived. Blinking in a bit of surprise, Gabriel gently nudged Jack’s leg to get his attention.

“Are they…?”

“Yeah,” Morrison confirmed, his voice low, “Apparently it started…before. They kept it quiet until recently.”

“Huh.” Gabe cocked his head slightly, looking at the lines of their faces, then flicked his eyes over to where Fareeha was sitting with a bowl of popcorn, Angela stealing a handful for herself as she sat down. “Do you suppose…”

“I don’t,” Jack interrupted, and even though he still wore that damned visor, Gabriel would bet his cheeks were burning, “and neither do you. Not our secret to dig up, anyway.”

Gabe let it go, suddenly wishing he’d grabbed popcorn, too. He didn’t get a lot from eating normal food, but he still enjoyed it. He missed nights like this, back in the old days, sitting back on the couch with Jack’s head against his thigh, munching on popcorn from a bowl balanced on his partner’s chest.

_Stop doing that to yourself. It’s not like that now._

_It could be…_

_Don’t._

At some point while he’d been lost in painful memories, Winston had come in, and Lena had tucked herself in carefully next to him. She looked exhausted. Gabriel wondered if he ought to go down and visit his…well, Widowmaker hadn’t exactly been a friend. Co-worker? Colleague?

_Amélie was your friend._

He really wished the little voice in the back of his head would shut up.

A rustle behind him made Gabriel turn, and he gave a slight nod to Genji and his Omnic friend as they sat down. They were joined by the little Korean brat who Jack had apparently adopted, Mei-Ling, and the DJ. Apparently that was it for the agents on site that evening. (Gabriel didn’t ask where the others were. He probably didn’t want to know.)

Alexander looked around and had apparently come to the same conclusion. “Everyone ready?”

After a chorus of affirmative murmurs, Hamilton politely asked Athena to start the show, and the lights in the room dimmed automatically.

Gabriel noticed that Hamilton repeated a couple of observations from when they’d watched the show together – the thing about the Bursar got a chuckle – but he continued raising some new points. After the first few minutes, Gabriel started paying more attention to the others as they watched than the musical itself.

It must have been the DJ’s first time watching the production, because he started tapping out beats on his lap and muttering about the song hooks to himself. “Ought to use that in a track, damn…”

Gabriel turned, making eye contact before offering “There’s a couple of remix albums you might want to hear, too.” Keeping his voice low, trying not to disturb anyone else.

The DJ (Lúcio, Gabriel suddenly remembered) looked at him with surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to get addressed by anyone, but particularly not _Reaper_. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Athena has copies you can check out.”

“I’ll…um…I’ll check them out. Thanks, man.”

Gabriel turned back around, noticing Jack tilting his head towards him – probably giving him a bit of a side-eye.

“What?”

“Nothing…don’t worry about it.”

He was about to call that passive aggressive bullshit out when his attention was grabbed by Alexander speaking up.  “If George the third had actually sung and danced like that while holding court, we might have stuck around.”

Lena blinked from where she’d snuggled into the Gorilla’s furry arm. “Really?”

“No.”

That got a chuckle from pretty much everyone.

Had Hamilton done that deliberately to distract him and Jack from arguing? Gabe would be wondering about that all night.

“One thing I wish they’d done, though I can see why they didn’t, was talk about Cato,” Hamilton observed as they took a break between acts.

Hana took the bait this time. “What’s Cato?”

“Not what,” Alexander corrected gently, “who. Cato was…well, as far as the outside world knew, Cato was Mulligan’s slave. Helped him with his tailoring business and took care of his house.”

“Sounds like that wasn’t the entire story,” Fareeha observed.

“Not at all,” Hamilton agreed. “Hercules manumitted Cato in secret as soon as he opened his own shop, and after that he helped Herc with espionage work. Saved Washington’s life twice by sneaking through the British lines and letting him know that he was in danger.” The founding father’s eyes took on a distant look. “They also seemed to be…close…but there were questions you just couldn’t ask back then. Not even with your closest friends.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember that there was a time where even an interracial relationship was taboo,” Ana admitted, “to say nothing of same-sex.”

“Sadly,” Genji sighed, “there are many who still hold on to those views. Sometimes I think hatred is the one thing we will never truly be rid of.”

“We do our best to set a better example,” Zenyatta’s voice was probably meant to be calming, but the Omnic’s carefully modulated tones still tended to set Gabriel’s teeth on edge. “Every victory against hate and prejudice, no matter how small, creates others.”

Rather than get much more involved with that discussion, Gabriel decided to go make some popcorn after all. Removing himself from the conversation was better than saying what he felt about THAT rainbow and unicorn crap.

Besides, tonight had been…good, really. He felt more relaxed than he had with these people, tonight, than he had been for a long time. He didn’t want to ruin that mood.

He’d found where they kept the microwave popcorn and had just thrown a bag into the appliance when he realized someone was behind him.

“Surprised you’ve been so quiet during this, Gabriel.”

He shrugged, looking at Hamilton’s distorted reflection in the microwave’s glass door. “You’re covering a lot of ground I already went over with you, and I practically have the show memorized. So I’m letting the others talk, and trying to listen.”

“Mm. How very Burr of you.”

Gabriel gave the founding father the best side-eye stare he could manage while listening for the sound of the popping kernels to slow down. “If you’re planning to sabotage my career, you’re a few years too late.”

Hamilton snorted, and Gabriel took advantage of the brief moment of silence afterward to pull the bag of popcorn out, shaking it a bit to distribute the fake butter more before he poured the kernels into a small mixing bowl. (Jack used to insist that trick didn’t actually work, but he was as wrong about that as he was about putting ketchup on hot dogs.)

“Odd as it may seem, I actually meant that as a compliment. I can tell you’ve been trying to avoid having an argument a couple times. It’s nice that you want people to enjoy this.” Hamilton sniffed at the bowl, brows knitting. “Can I try some of that?”

“Sure. Didn’t they have popcorn back then?”

Hamilton shook his head. “Not really. I mean, corn, yes, but not…puffed like that.” He put a few kernels into his mouth, then munched thoughtfully. “Salty. A little rich. Not bad.”

“We should get back out there,” Gabriel motioned to the door. “You can steal a bit more of mine.”

“You still haven’t talked to me for my project.”

Gabriel shook his head, feeling a few wisps of smoke puff from his forehead as he walked through the door. “Later. Please.”

Act Two got rolling a few minutes later.

Mei couldn’t resist the bait. “Was Jefferson really that bad?”

Alexander groaned, and Gabriel had to suppress a snicker. He knew what was coming.

“Oh God, you have no idea – that hypocritical, egotistical, conniving son of a bitch. If anything, the portrayal in the show makes him far more likable than he ever was in life.” He paused to steal a few more bites of popcorn. “They got his dress sense about right. I mean, he never wore purple like that, but he was always turned out well. About the only thing I could almost like about the greasy fucker aside from…well, that’s a…’spoiler’? Did I use that right?”

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded, “you did.”

“Good. Anyway. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal’,” Alexander sang in a rough attempt at a soprano, “except of course for the ones that I’m putting in chains, or the ones that I’m blatantly abusing my power over their lives and safety to coerce into sexual relations, or the ones I decide to sell off because my hemp crop came in a bit weak and I need to pay for the upkeep on the god-damned **_mansion_** I built off the backs of their forced…”

Hamilton coughed as he noticed the looks he was getting from several points around the room. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Winston chuckled, an almost seismic rumble in the darkened room. “Maybe a little.”

Athena had been smart enough to pause the recording when she’d realized Hamilton was really getting on a roll, and the AI restarted the show once the laughter from that exchange had died down. Gabriel hoped the playback wasn't paused downstairs, or Widowmaker would probably be very confused and pissed off the next time someone checked on her.

It was about twenty minutes later when Lena poked at one of the elephants that had appeared in the room.

“So, Mrs. Reynolds…was that one of the ‘spectacular fuckups’ you mentioned to me the other day?”

Gabriel looked over to see Alexander pinching his nose, eyes shut with remembered pain and embarrassment. “Several times over. Once for thinking with my dick, twice for not stopping, thrice for not confessing to Eliza and telling her the truth, and fourth…well, you’ll see. Mr. Miranda wasn’t shy about showing my mistakes in detail.”

“That can’t be terribly enjoyable for you,” Angela observed between bites of popcorn.

Hamilton shrugged. “I earned it. And I’d rather he be honest about my flaws than try to make me into some sort of tragic saint. My feet are made of clay, not gold.”

Gabriel was a little surprised to notice Hamilton tearing up during Washington’s farewell. That hadn’t happened the last time.

“Was he really so uncertain that the country would survive him?” Genji’s head was tilted a bit, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Hamilton fumbled on reflex for a handkerchief he wasn’t carrying, then silently thanked Gabriel for an extra napkin as he dabbed at his unshed tears. “Of course he was. There’s a reason we called it the American experiment, after all. We were on virgin ground, and it seemed just as likely that the whole mess would tear itself apart as come together.” He shook his head. “When I think about the fact that it’s survived so long, despite ourselves, it seems like an impossible miracle.”

“Tricentennial’s coming up. July fourth,” Gabriel murmured, almost to himself, “next month.”

Hamilton shook his head, bemused. “I saw. It’s not really right, though. All we did on July 4th was yell ‘fuck you’ across the ocean and invite an asskicking. Even Yorktown wasn’t really it. Ratifying the constitution…that was the real moment.”

Jack actually laughed at that – a genuine, soft laugh like Gabriel hadn’t heard in _so long_. “'June 21 st, 1788' doesn’t have a very catchy a ring to it.”

“No,” Hamilton grumped, “I suppose not. Still wrong, though.”

“So you wouldn’t like to visit New York or DC for the celebration?” Was Jack actually serious? Or was that teasing? Gabriel genuinely wasn’t sure.

Hamilton didn’t seem to be either. “I didn’t say…I don’t…” He took a moment to collect himself. “Part of me would be fascinated to see it, but I would also have many, many ghosts there. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that.”

Gabriel could absolutely understand that.

After a moment, the subject was closed by mutual unspoken agreement, and things were fairly quiet until the beat dropped for _The Reynolds Pamphlet_.

“I remember this,” Angela offered from where she’d settled her head on her partner’s lap. “You said something about surviving your own stupidity in publishing it, not long after you woke up.”

“This would be spectacular fuckup number six or seven, if we’re talking chronological order,” Hamilton confirmed, “probably number three on my lifetime list if we’re talking severity.”

Gabriel was a little surprised that Hana was the one to follow that up. He’d figured she’d have zoned out with a game on her phone by now. “They wanted to keep you from ever being President. Did _you_ actually want to be President?”

Alexander shrugged. “Not really. My ambitions lay in making sure the Treasury would be sound long after my lifetime, and ensuring the country it served would stand, regardless of what form my service took. Washington had given me command of the Continental Army as he prepared to step down, and I spent a lot of my energies there. Trying to establish a real professional force out of what we'd had after the war took years...I suppose that’s a piece of my legacy, too. Thinking back, though, I suspect _Washington_ wanted me to be one of his successors, and that scared the lot of them shitless.”

Hamilton sighed, closing his eyes and falling back against the couch. “He was so damn hard to read. That reference to him playing chess was perfect. He really did try to work three moves ahead of everyone, and you never quite knew what he wanted from you. There were days I’d write to Eliza about how much I hated working for him, and there were days I would take a bullet for him. I think there were days he saw me as a protégé, and days he wanted to strangle me with his bare hands. But we loved him. We all did, and he put his stamp on all of us in the end. In a way, I’m glad he died before…things fell apart for me. I am glad he didn’t have to see me as a disappointment again.”

Gabriel found himself looking over at Jack, and a brief pang of wondering just where Jesse had been sent – what the mission was, how he was doing.  He tried to push that little voice in his head back, keep it from showing on his face. With his concentration divided so deeply, some of him must have started dissolving into more smoke, given the way Lúcio cleared his throat suddenly. Dammit.

Gabriel tried to push everything else deep down and just focus on his body for a moment – make sure he wouldn’t wraith through the damn couch or something similarly stupid – and as he finally felt under control he was surprised to feel Jack’s hand on his. Gentle, not threatening, not insisting. Just present, and warm.

_Oh._

Part of him wanted to yank his hand back like it was on fire. The rest wanted to turn his palm over and squeeze back. He settled on just staying still, trying to focus on the screen again, where the actress playing Eliza was shredding papers and feeding them to a flame.

“Eliza really hated you after that, didn’t she?” Ana’s voice, soft and reflective.

“She had every right to,” Hamilton barely whispered, “I deserved it. She still loved me – and I never stopped loving her, no matter how stupid I was. But she hated me for quite some time.”

Hamilton was utterly silent through the course of _Blow Us All Away_ and the reprise of _Stay Alive_. Gabriel wasn’t surprised to see Zenyatta put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He was a little surprised at Mercy needing to gently wipe tears away from Fareeha’s eyes. He’d swear they’d watched the show a few times, when she was growing up. Perhaps it was just the emotion of having Alexander in the room.

As _The Election of 1800_ played on, Mei gave a soft ‘oh!’ of understanding. “I guess that’s what you meant about Jefferson? The other thing you said you almost liked him for, I mean.”

“Once he made up his mind, nothing short of God or Washington could make him back down. It was absolutely infuriating, but I have to admit it was something to see when his ire wasn’t pointed in my direction.”

As the show drove towards the finale, Hamilton grimaced a bit. “They really played around with timing here. I get why – it’s far more dramatic – but this didn’t come to a head for a couple more years. Aaron wasn’t _happy_ with me, but he was still Vice-President. He made the most of it. It was when he stood for Governor of New York afterwards and got thrashed that he decided it was my fault.”

Genji gave a soft hum. “Did you really sabotage him deliberately?”

“What, then?” Hamilton turned to see the cyborg nod. “Not exactly? I said a few things at a party that got blown out of proportion, and they were repeated by enough people, enough times. Like Burr said in this – rumors only grow.”

They were quiet through the finale and curtain call. Gabriel had noticed before that Alexander teared up as Burr lamented what he’d done, and sure enough, tears glittered against his cheeks again. He said nothing, but as several of the others got up to put dishes away and use the bathroom, Zenyatta floated his way around the couch to look at Hamilton with a thoughtful air.

“So, Alexander, did you truly throw away your shot?”

Hamilton looked up at the ceiling, and then down to his shoes. “I suppose it depends how you look at it. I thought that firing at the sky, giving us both the out, was the right thing to do. I suppose I still do."

"I thought it better to suffer a small loss of face than kill one of my first friends in America. But if I hadn’t, what then? Would we both be rotting in a grave within days, as tied together in death as we were in life? Would I have still ended up here? Should I be here at all? All I can say is that I did the only thing that seemed right, in that moment.”

Zenyatta hummed, his orbs rotating with a musical chime, then nodded before floating off to follow Genji.

Alexander looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially to where Gabriel still sat. “Between the two of us, though, if I’d known Burr was going to go off a few years later with that crackpot plan to become king of _Ohio_ , of all places…”

Gabriel couldn’t help himself. He laughed, and after a moment, Hamilton laughed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, it's a bit lighter chapter! Kind of. Sorta. 
> 
> I actually had plans for one other thing to happen in this chapter, but once again Hamilton & Co. had other ideas...


	13. Pray That Hell Or Heaven Lets You In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **TRIGGER WARNING**  
>   
> 
> Please be advised that this chapter contains **Major Character Injury** , **Medical Trauma** , and discussion of two canonical **Major Character Deaths**. I will be adjusting the fic rating accordingly.

Alexander had been ‘noodling around’ in his office, as Lena put it, trying to get a paragraph just the way he wanted it, when the urgent alert from Athena rang through the Watchpoint.

**“Medical Staff to the hangar bay! All available Medical Staff to the hangar bay! Critical patient inbound!”**

Hamilton leapt from his chair and vaulted straight over the top of his desk, sending papers scattering in his haste. 

Angela was waiting with the elder Amari when he reached the hangar bay, a wheeled gurney standing empty between them.

“Alexander,” Angela’s voice was thick with tension, her bearing of someone barely contained, waiting to explode into either anger or action, “You should not be here.”

“Who is it?”

Angela wouldn’t answer.

Hamilton stepped up, pain and fear in his voice. “ _Who_?”

“Hana.” Ana’s voice was brittle, her sniper’s gaze trained on the blue sky at the mouth of the landing bay. “There was a trap. From what I could understand of the confusion, she used her mecha’s self-destruct device to clear a path for the others to escape…but someone set up antipersonnel mines in the ground. She’d landed clear of her own blast when she ejected, but a mine detonated right in front of her as she landed. Bad luck or deliberate action, we don’t know.”

Hamilton’s blood felt like icy water as he tried to process all of that. His lips worked silently, but before he could say anything else he could hear Lena’s voice ringing out from the overhead speakers just as a blip of something grey appeared on the horizon.

“Gibraltar ATC, this is Oscar-21. Inbound with critical patient! Be advised, patient is not stabilized and we are coming in **HOT**.”

Hamilton looked to Ana. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s going to damn near crash the plane to get Hana to us as fast as she can.” Her eye met with his. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Yes, I do.” He’d become acquaintances with essentially everyone involved with Overwatch, but Hana was part of that slowly expanding group he considered actual friends, constantly teasing him as he worked to understand the bizarre realm of the internet, and educating him in the methods of communication that had evolved with it after his first lifetime.  “When I was a general, Ana, I was there for my men when they were hurt. The least I can do is be here for my friend.”

The old soldier nodded, but said nothing else as the grey speck Alexander had barely made out even with his glasses became larger and larger, impossibly quickly.

“Oscar-21 on final! Raise crash barriers and prep for medevac!” The tension in Lena’s voice said everything about how desperate the situation aboard must have been. At the border that separated landing area from hangar, a blue force bubble erected itself. Angela had her staff in hand, and Ana pulled a set of biotic syringes from the pouch at her waist.

There was a roar like thunder and a wave of intense heat as the Orca transport fell from the sky. Thrusters and antigravs worked together to arrest the craft’s motion, and the heavy landing gear slammed to the ground with a deafening impact, shock absorbers releasing a massive amount of steam from their pressure vents. Quite a contrast to the more sedate, almost feather-like landings Alexander had watched since taking an interest in the aircraft here.

Angela and Ana were running to the transport even before the barrier winked out of existence, and Genji leapt from the landing ramp as soon as it had opened enough to give him clearance, Hana cradled in his arms. Lúcio followed with his audio healing device a heartbeat later.

They’d gotten Hana on the gurney and reversed direction, running for the medbay as soon as she’d been secured. Her cheerful pink uniform was an obscenity of burned material, gaping red wounds, and bloodstains. A nasty cut split the side of her scalp, and the skin beneath was puckered an angry red.

Alexander could see Ana running a needle into the young woman’s neck, a golden glow surrounding her body as the medics called words back and forth that he didn’t understand.

“180 over 110!”

“95 – 105 – she’s taching!”

“Hang 2 units of blood, she’s lost more than I can replace quickly!”

“Tried to amp it up, but there was so much –“

“Did you get an XSTAT in the larger wounds?”

“Only had one, went for the largest I could -”

“Burns over 30% of her torso -”

“Where is Zenyatta?”

“Up on the cliffs. He’s coming but he’s on his own –“

“I can help – “

“Both of you - GO!”

Genji was gone in a heartbeat, Lúcio close behind, switching his gear over to speed boosting tunes as he followed the cyborg.

“Temp at 104 – need to get her cooled down!”

“Have to get the entry wounds cleared first!”

“Oxygen is running!”

Alexander’s head was spinning as he tried to understand the rapid, cryptic conversation, and he realized after a moment that others were joining him as he pursued the gurney on its' way to the medical bay. Lena and Satya had been on the apparently failed mission. Fareeha, still clad in her armor from the patrol she’d broken off from to return at Lena's first call of alarm. Morrison and Gabriel from somewhere else in the base. Winston lumbering behind them but making up ground fast.

Genji, Lúcio, and Zenyatta met them at the medbay doors, holding them open for the gurney to pass through as the healers fought their desperate battle.

“Hana, stay with me! Listen to my voice, _häschen!_ ”

“Not today, Hana! Not today! C’mon girl, you owe me another DDR run!”

“The Iris embraces you, Hana Song. Stay in the warmth. Follow the radiance and let us mend you.”

Beeping and terrifyingly arrhythmic noises assaulted the ears as monitoring equipment began to issue reports on her vitals, and the reports were apparently not good from how Angela reacted, fingers carefully but swiftly attempting to explore the insults done to her patient’s body.

Ana’s voice suddenly rang out over the cacophony as one of the alarms turned to a more urgent wail: “She’s hemorrhaging!”

Angela’s voice was like a thundercrack, snapping with the tone of someone who knows every second matters, and she has no time for pleasantries. “ _Jeder ohne medizinische Ausbildung raus. Sofort!”_

“what?”

“OUT! If you are not a doctor, OUT! **NOW!** ”

“Athena, sterilize for emergency surgery as soon as the doors shut!”

Genji closed the doors behind him, and another blue field came online, apparently aiding in making the room safe for the surgery that was about to happen.

Fortunately or unfortunately for the team that had assembled in the hallway, it did not block the passage of sound.

“Zenyatta, keep her with us – no time for anything else.”

“Watch her ribcage –“

“I’m going for a thoracotomy. Nothing else –“

“Your staff?”

“Last option.”

“Two more units of whole blood –“

“Get that cooling blanket –“

“Pain is an illusion, Hana. Your true self is light, just as mine. Let your light dance in the iris. Feel that warmth and take it into yourself, that you may share your light with us.”

“V-FIB!”

“No no no no no no!”

“BP just went through the roof!

“She’s in arrest!”

_“CLEAR!”_

A loud piercing tone suddenly overrode everything else, and from the way people reacted around him, Alexander knew it was bad. Fear gripped him as he realized that the beautiful, funny, wickedly intelligent young girl was about to die before she saw her 20th birthday.

_Phillip, please be a friend to her._

_Eliza, please watch over her._

_She deserved so much more_.

“She’s coding – she’s coding – I can’t keep –“

“She’s going – we’re losing – “

There was a terrified moment where the world seemed to freeze, save for that terrible flat note, and then Angela Ziegler’s voice rang out, thick with something beyond rage. Anger at the violence that lead to this? Hate for the specter of loss constantly hanging over her? He couldn’t say without asking the doctor, but it felt as if she was shouting to the gates of Heaven itself, and tearing them open by the sheer force of her fury. Throwing death back with her will alone.

**_ “HELDEN STERBERN NICHT!” _ **

There was cracking noise like someone had fired a gun into the infirmary floor, almost simultaneous with a ringing _sound_ that filled Alexander’s ears like a cannon blast, and a flash as if a bomb made of golden light was detonating within the infirmary.

Alexander heard Gabriel’s breath catch in a ragged gasp. Turning, he saw the man’s eyes were terrified, while the others watched with rapt attention.

“c’mon Hana,” Lena breathed, just barely audible, ”don’t you dare…”

There was a sudden set of beeps, and the sound of someone sucking in a breath from the infirmary. Another beep. Another gasping breath. Another beep. A cry of pain, in Hana’s distinctive voice. The beeping becoming a steady pattern as eyes turned to the ceiling, a _frisson_ of hope growing in the air.

The field over the door winked out, and everyone surged forward before Angela stepped out, leaning on her staff and looking barely able to stand.

“She’ll make it.” The cheer that began at that news suddenly turned to alarm as the doctor fell, already unconscious, into Fareeha’s arms.

Alexander didn’t realize until well after they’d gotten Angela into one of her own hospital beds that Gabriel had disappeared.

* * *

_He’s running to the house on Bleeker, where the messenger was sent from. His lungs are burning and his legs feel as if they’ll shatter into flinders with every step, but when has that ever stopped him? His usual summer case of malaria is sapping his strength but he pulls more from somewhere deep inside, not caring about the cost. He almost batters down the door before the doctor answers, his face already telling Alexander what he doesn’t want to know._

_“Where is my son?!”_

_Being lead through the door, the words blurring into a buzzing in his ears like a thousand gnats until the doctor points at a doorway_

_“…the wound was already infected…”_

_Charging past, shouldering a maid out of the way in his shock – he ought to apologize but there is NO TIME – fingers trembling as he reached the bed where Phillip has been cut out of his coat and breeches, the lurid red of the bullet wound already turning sickly yellow and ringed with white pus at the edges._

_“…pa…”_

_“Shhh. Shhh.”_

_“I did exactly what you said, pa…”_

_“I know, I know! I know, I know, you did everything just right…” Gripping his searching fingers, trying to pull his son back to him…kissing the clammy skin on the back of his hand, slick with sweat and fever…_

_“Even before I got to ten…”_

_“I know, I know…”_

_“I was aiming at the sky! I was aiming…at..the sk..sky…” His voice breaks in agony, as much from the betrayal of honor as the wound._

_“I know, I know! Just save your strength, and…”_

_“ALEXANDER!”_

_Eliza is here, gripping Phillip’s other hand, her face a mask, but her eyes are filled with anguish. They can barely make eye contact over their son’s chest. Both know what is happening, their quarrel as nothing before this. Each tries to reach him, to fan that dying ember of his life back into a flame. Desperately promising, speaking, praying, but it isn’t enough. He’s going. He’s going, and they cannot stop it. Phillip is dying and Alexander can barely understand the nonsense he’s babbling, as if he can put a wall of words between his child and death._

_It didn’t save his mother. It didn’t save John. It isn’t…he won’t…he can’t…please no no no god no not again I can’t_

_He hears Eliza singing and it seizes his heart like a vice. Trying to keep Phillip awake and making him sing with her:_

_“Un – deux – trois – quatre – cinq – six – sept-“_

_“-sept-huit-neuf…”_

_“Good! Un – deux – trois – quatre”_

_“cinq…six…”_

_“Sept – huit –…..sept, huit?”_

_“Sept…” Tears are falling on the bedsheets and there is a rising stink that Alexander knows all too well as the light fades, eyes no longer seeing, and his throat burns as he cries out his son’s na –_

** “HELDEN STERBERN NICHT!” **

* * *

For the first time in two hundred and seventy six years, Alexander Hamilton woke in the middle of the night screaming his firstborn son’s name. Breath ragged, covered in sweat, chest heaving, and a wave of acrid sickness rising up his throat. Stumbling as he barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s vomiting everything left in his stomach into the toilet basin, and a disgusting rush of bile burns his throat before it spews from his lips. Trembling, he clutches his arms to himself and falls backwards against the cool tile of the wall once he knows there is nothing left to vomit, weeping and shaking uncontrollably for long minutes.

He takes a cold shower to rinse off the sweat, his skin aflame. When he finally feels less than unbearably warm, he slowly turns up the heat to ease his aches. From the knots of tension in his legs and arms, he must have been wrapped in that nightmare for most of the night.

He finally leaves the shower and dries himself off, slowly combing out his hair before he puts on a nightshirt and bathrobe. The time, according to the small clock next to his bed, is 3:24 am.

He puts on slippers. (Why are there rabbits embroidered on the caps of the toes? No one can explain. It simply is, as are so many frustrating aspects of this damned place.)

He leaves his room after asking Athena’s pardon for alarming her, then pads to the kitchen.

Brandy isn’t the best option for a soured stomach, but he knows of old that it will silence these dreams. There’s a bottle in the liquor cabinet. Last he checked, half full.

That will be more than enough.

To his surprise, Angela is sitting at a table when he enters the dining room. She is exhausted still, her skin waxy, dark circles beneath her eyes. She stares at a steaming mug in front of her, but Alexander would bet she doesn’t see anything in this room. He knows that look all too well.

He realizes it’s the first time he has ever seen her hair completely down, and it cascades in platinum waves down her shoulders and back, surprisingly long. She must pin it up meticulously every day. The idea of that is...very her, actually.

He sits down across from her, his mission temporarily set aside.

“Angela, should you be up?”

 _“Wie bitte? Oh... Entschuldigung, ich habe nicht ..”_ The glaze over the doctor’s eyes slowly clears as she brings herself back to here and now. “Oh. Forgive me, I’m sorry Alexander, I didn’t even realize…”

“Sh. No apology necessary.” His fingers reach to gently stroke the hollow of her cheek, a father’s concern in his gaze at how sunken her eyes are. “I asked if you should be out of bed. You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible, but I can’t sleep anymore,” she sighed, “ _und Sie?_ ”

Hamilton shook his head, knowing he probably looked just as bad. “Nightmares. It seems it will be a long night for both of us.”

“I was going to drink some warm milk and nutmeg,” she explained, gesturing to the mug, “but it was what my mother used to give me on nights like this when I was little, and when I thought of her…”

“I dreamed of Phillip,” Hamilton confessed in turn, “of his death. I was _there_ , back in that doctor’s damned house, and…” Alexander closed his eyes, shaking his head as if to dislodge the memories. “It’s been a long time since I dreamed of that day.”

“I suppose it’s only natural, after today.” Angela’s eyes were full of sympathy – it occurred to Alexander that she might be one of the few in this time to have lost as many loved ones as he did.

They sat in silence until Alexander finally put a voice to the shocked question that had filled him since he’d burst into the medical bay to see Hana’s body whole, most of the wounds healing, looking like mild bruises and old scars rather than the lurid insults she’d arrived with.

“Angela? What the hell did I see you do today?”

The doctor laughed humorlessly. “I suppose I should have expected you to ask me that,” she murmured with just a touch of bitterness in her voice, “it’s my greatest success, and my greatest failure.”

“I don’t understand.”

Angela straightened up, and her bearing was suddenly that of the respected doctor – so much like the lecturers at King’s College he’d listened to years ago. “The Caduceus Nanobiotic Surgery System has a secret that I have been hiding from most of the world for years – since the fall of the original Overwatch.”

Alexander was rapt with silence as she took a sip of her milk before continuing.

“The staff works by delivering nanosurgeons and reconstructive energies in a targeted beam – that much is well documented and public knowledge, even if I have been cautious about allowing derivative technologies, given the potential for abuse.” That drew another bitter laugh. “Abuse…is arguably exactly what I did when I discovered and developed the Resurrection Protocol.”

“Resurrection.” Alexander’s voice was flat. “Wait…the casket…”

“The casket was based in part on some of my earliest published research, and likely from observation of my own actions in the field,” Angela confirmed, then went on. “Caduceus Resurrection Protocol involves releasing a massive overcharge of nanosurgeons into the body of a patient who is in extreme duress. 5000% of standard dosage plus a 200% power boost to the delivery beam. Forcing the nanobots to replicate and regenerate tissues and heal wounds at a rate that is, bluntly, unsafe, but is the only way to potentially prevent – or reverse – death.”

Alexander felt his skin grow cold for reasons that had nothing to do with his earlier shower. “Reverse…death.”

Angela’s nod is almost robotic – like this is a presentation she’s rehearsed time and time again, anticipating almost every question – to his legally trained mind, she acts like a woman who expects to be questioned in court. Not as a witness or expert: as the guilty party.

“If the treatment is administered within five seconds of expiration there is a 99.98% chance that the patient can be saved with no ill effects. Depending on the severity of injuries, their wounds may still require treatment and recovery, but at a manageable level for standard care techniques.”

“I assume you don’t want to use more of your nanosurgeons because of that risk of ill effects?”

“ _Ja_ ,” she confirms, “the ones used in the protocol are basically burned out by the process – there is a risk the additional nanosurgeons would begin repairing their fellows, keeping them in an endless cycle of overcharge and decay, rather than repairing the patient’s actual injuries, if they are not flushed out. Which, combined with the treatment being administered long after safe point, is likely what caused the exceptionally aberrant behavior of the process when used on Patient Zero.”

“Patient Zero,” Alexander breathed, and suddenly a number of things that didn’t seem to connect properly in the histories he’s been reading and compiling slammed into place. “Oh dear God. _Gabriel._ ” He straightened, his hands resting on Angela’s shoulders with a not entirely gentle shake. “Gabriel told me that what happened to him – why he returned – was different than what happened to me! You – it was _YOU?!_ Patient _zero_ , Angela what the _fuck?_ ”

She shrugged away, a hand slapping his arms down, raw pain and anger in her eyes. “I _loved_ them! Jack and Gabriel were more than my _friends_ , Alexander! They were like the parents I had lost, a family I never dared to think I could have again, and when I found Gabriel alone in that _verficktes schlachtfeld_ that had been our  home, I was desperate! I had just finished outlining the first attempt at the protocol for lab trials and _I HAD TO TRY_ , because I wanted to save my **family** , _Du kannst mich dafür nicht verurteilen. Ich bin so oder so verdammt dafür!_ ”

The anger expended, Alexander could only sit, stunned, as Angela began to weep, her voice thick with self-hatred as her words tumbled down. "I thought I had failed. Nothing happened. Just a twitch and a bare moment of a heartbeat, so I did it _again_. That time his eyelids fluttered for twenty seconds before he flatlined again, so I tried for a _third_ time…and I watched as his body suddenly crumbled into dust.” Her fingers exploded outwards in pantomime to describe the collapse before she took a shuddering breath. “I literally swept up a man who had been like a father to me, and we buried what I could recover in casket in Arlington.”

“But that wasn’t the end.”

“no,” Angela confirmed, her voice tiny and hollow, “it was not.”

“When did you realize…?”

“Not long after. He…tried to kill me. I probably deserved it. I escaped. Eventually he followed.” She laughed darkly. “This continued for some time.”

“And now?”

“He’s more like the man he was than he has been in many years. Perhaps his mind finally healing from the damage I caused, perhaps something else. I do not know. But he does not trust me as he once did – and I do not think that he ever will.” She shrugged. “I deserve nothing less.”

Something she had said clicked for him – “You administered the…protocol…to him three times in a row that day. With Hana you used it once, and seemed to nearly kill yourself doing it.”

“Different circumstances. I had brought an excess of nanosurgeons to try to save Gabriel and Jack that day – though Jack was gone before I arrived. In Hana’s case…I didn’t have time to assemble anything like that amount today…excuse me, yesterday…so I drew the bulk of the nanosurgeons I used to save Hana from the reserves in my own body. That is why I left it as the absolute last resort option.”

“… _what?_ ”

“I would never use a medical technology on a patient I wasn’t willing to test on myself.” Her expression was painfully earnest.  “I have had nanosurgeon colonies in my bloodstream since I first developed the technology. It’s saved my life, and others, many times. It’s also providing excellent data for a long term study on the effects of continuous use. I’ll probably have enough to publish – anonymously of course – in another year or two.”

“Please do not take this the wrong way, Angela, but I think you might very well be insane.”

She laughed darkly. “That is an interesting opinion coming from a dead man. But there are many days when I think you are probably right.”

What else could be said to that?

“…I’m sorry for insulting you, Doctor. And for striking you. That was unwarranted.”

“If I am honest, Alexander? It’s probably the most human reaction you’ve had to this entire mess since you passed out screaming when Winston woke you up.”

They managed to share a laugh at that. After another long silence, Angela finished her milk.

“I think I will try to sleep now. Perhaps after finally telling someone this story…it will be easier.”

“My God. You labored under that burden alone?”

Angela shrugged wordlessly.

“Fareeha would bear it with you. So would many others.”

“I suspect Jack and Ana know now. Winston probably suspects. But I didn’t dare. Who would trust me again? Who should?”

“You just told me you’ve saved their lives many times. Perhaps that should count for something.”

Angela shrugged again. “Perhaps. Right now…I think it is too early in the morning for such thoughts. I hope that you may find sleep, Alexander.”

“Good night, Angela.”

“ _Guten morgen.”_

Alexander made a cup of ginger tea he’d found in the pantry that was labeled as being an excellent solution to upset stomachs.

Once he was certain it wouldn’t leave him vomiting again, he carried the bottle of brandy back to his room, and drank down a healthy dram.

The nightmares he had when he attempted to sleep again were different, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.


	14. Can We Get Back To Politics (Please?)

Hana was bored.

She’d been in the infirmary for two days now, while Ana and Zenyatta took turns minding her, and Lúcio stopped by to play a few tracks he’d been working on that incorporated different hooks and samples from the _Hamilton_ soundtrack and remixes for her.

Angela had been involved with saving her, she could just barely remember her defiant cry and a golden warmth pulling her back from the cold darkness, but she hadn’t been in while Hana was awake. She’d asked Ana about it once, and she’d simply shrugged and told Hana they were making the doctor finally get a little rest.

That concerned her a little, but for the most part? Just bored.

She didn’t stream while in a hospital bed. Before she joined Overwatch, the Korean government had rarely asked her to stream after getting hurt because it was ‘bad for morale’, but they’d occasionally required it to prove D.Va was “happy and healthy” to the public no matter how bad she really was. These days, she could enforce her own boundaries, and she was exercising that privilege. NO hospital streams, she could take days off if she needed to, and if a mission looked like it had a good chance of going south (or demanded stealth), she’d record, but make the decision to broadcast or dump the recordings later.

She was grateful the last mission had been one of those. Bad enough they would have gotten suckered in front of everyone, but with the way things had gone…better to just lay low, recover, and do something goofy like a drunk Mario speedrun challenge with Genji or a Rhythm Megamix with Lúcio when she was ready.

Still…it would be fun to play _something_.

She reached over to her nightstand, finding her phone, and popped up the messenger app.

12:04 am. Hmmm…

 **D.Va:** Hey

**D.Va:** **ㅎㅇ**

**D.Va:** heyyyyy

 **D.Va** : Hey 삼촌.

 **D.Va** : C’moooooon, I know you’ve got to still be up.

 **A.Ham:** new phone, who dis

 **D.Va:** Yeah, that joke works a lot better when you don’t use it on the person who taught it to you.

 **A.Ham:** OK, fair point. How’re you feeling?

 **A.Ham:** Need anything?

 **D.Va:** booooooooooored. ㅠㅠ

 **D.Va:** 할머니 and Zenny won’t let me play SC because it’s bad for my blood pressure

 **D.Va:** ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

 **D.Va:** Is this what it was like when you were a kid? Just sort of sitting in bed and waiting for the wooly mammoths to attack?

 **A.Ham:** No, I got to hunt dinosaurs too.

 **A.Ham:** I could bring you a book?

 **D.Va:** No, thanks tho. I was actually thinking I could teach you to play something on our phones?

 **D.Va:** But speaking of books I wanted to ask you about something.

 **A.Ham:** Questions first, maybe answers second, and then you can try teaching me this game.

 **D.Va:** You sound like you already know I’m going to win. ㅋㅋㅋ

 **A.Ham:** I had teenage daughters Hana. I know when I’m walking into a trap.

 **D.Va:** fiiiine. Seriously, tho, can I ask you about something from before? Like, when there was Disco and Camelot and stuff.

 **A.Ham:** Of course you can.

 **A.Ham:** But I have no idea what Disco is.

 **D.Va:** It was something from the play. The little sick guy, Madison. The one who was hanging out with TJeffs and fist pumping when you fucked up.

 **A.Ham:** Jemmy? Sure. What about him?

 **D.Va:** That’s kinda it – you’re calling him ‘Jemmy’ like you were friends! And the one song talked about how you guys did a bunch of writing together. And then all the sudden he thinks you’re The Worst Ever. What happened there?

 **A.Ham:** Good catch, Hana.

 **A.Ham:** It’s complicated.

 **D.Va:** ‘Complicated’? Like Dad and Edgelord trying not to admit that they still like each other?

 **D.Va:** Ew ew ew ㄱㄷ you didn’t, like, have old man makeouts and then blow up a building did you?

 **A.Ham:** dear sweet god NO no no no no no

 **A.Ham:** Jemmy was straight as a board.

 **A.Ham:** And Dolley would have killed me if I tried.

 **A.Ham:** ㅋㅋㅋ

 **A.Ham:** Did I use that right?

 **D.Va:** Basically? Sort of? Kinda.

 **A.Ham:** Anyway, we were friends.

 But things got bad.

The deal goes back to when I was trying to set up the Treasury.

 **A.Ham:** Before the constitution, the Continental Congress did something called the Articles of Confederation.

 **A.Ham:** they sucked.

 **A.Ham:** But one of the things they did was send a pay voucher to every soldier who fought in the War for all their back pay.

 **A.Ham:** The vouchers would come to full value in 1791, ten years after they were issued.

 **D.Va:** So like an IOU combined with a savings bond?

 **A.Ham:** Exactly.

 **A.Ham:** This is why you’re my favorite.

 **D.Va:** I thought Lena was your favorite.

 **A.Ham:** She’s the only person here who is shorter than me.

 **A.Ham:** That’s very important.

  **A.Ham:** (Torb does not count because he is too surly to ever be my favorite.)

 **D.Va:** whatever. **ㅡㅡ**

 **A.Ham:** Anyways – fast forward a few years to 1788, and we needed money. Bad. This was before I got the national bank going using the debts – the Dinner thing.

 **A.Ham:** So I put out an announcement that the Treasury would buy back those pay vouchers for 2/3rds of their full value.

 **A.Ham:** Jemmy freaked because he felt I was taking advantage of our soldiers.

 **A.Ham:** We had other disagreements too but that was the big one.

 **D.Va:** Was he wrong? It kinda sounds like you did take advantage of them.

 **A.Ham:** Depends how you look at it.

 **A.Ham:** A lot of those veterans took the money we gave them, and they were able to buy farms. Plant crops. Build homes. Start businesses or begin families – and they didn’t have to wait three more years.

For some families that was the difference between survival and starving.

 **A.Ham:** We still gave them value – and when those bonds matured it instantly brought capital into the treasury that I could immediately leverage against all those debts in NY, Massachusetts, and the other states once I got the OK to do it, which made the country much more stable.

 **A.Ham** : And bluntly, TJeffs and Jemmy liked to scream about how I was hurting the poor common farmers, but they didn’t hesitate to sweep in and claim their land when those farmers went bankrupt, or to gouge their crop prices because they could sell a few slaves to supplement the lost money.

 **A.Ham:** That last part was mostly TJeffs, but Jemmy kinda blinded himself to the hypocrisy because he thought TJeffs could do no wrong.

 **A.Ham:** (Spoiler: He did wrong.)

 **D.Va:** OK. That makes some more sense, I guess.

 **D.Va:** Thanks, 삼촌.

 **A.Ham:** Of course. You’re very welcome, Hana.

 **A.Ham:** So what’s this game?

 **D.Va:** It’s an old card game called Hearthstone. There’s an app for it on your phone. Game is free, but you can buy extra cards with cash to fill out your collection.

 **A.Ham:** I have the feeling you have the largest collection around, somehow…

 **D.Va:** Nope! Winston, believe it or not. Where do you think he spends all his money?

 **A.Ham:** Peanut butter?

**D.Va:** **ㅇㄱㄹㅇ**

**D.Va:** Oh hey, forgot to ask you – have you talked to Angel!Mom today? Haven’t seen her at all.

 **A.Ham:** Ran into her when we couldn’t sleep the night after…things happened to you.

 Had a talk. I think she’s been trying to rest.

 **A.Ham:** and that Fareeha locked her in their room because Angela was still trying to go back to work.

 **D.Va:** Mom Game level: FIERCE

* * *

Gabriel finally sacked up and did one of the three things he’d been dreading for much of the last month when he went into Hamilton’s office.

“Hello, Gabriel! Let me finish this paragraph and get a fresh pad of paper…”

He settled into a chair while Hamilton sorted things out. “Still don’t trust using computers for your notes?”

“I write faster than the tablet can keep up with,” Alexander replied with a smirk, “paper and a good ink pen have no such restrictions.”

Gabriel grunted, letting that lie. “So…”

“So.” Hamilton looked over his glasses, carefully searching his face. “I suspect your thoughts on the new Overwatch are a bit different.”

“It’s a tragedy,” Gabriel sighed, “a story that came to a sad end once already. I’m afraid it’ll head down the same roads – but some of me wishes I was really a part of it. That I could offer…something. Perspective, I guess? Now that I have a little.”

Hamilton wrote for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I spoke to Morrison for a bit. ‘76’. Whatever he wants to be called – it seems as if it’s the worst kept secret, really. But I’m getting off track. He talked about how both of you ‘went a little crazy’. What happened in your case?”

“I went ‘a little crazy’ in about the same way someone gets ‘a little pregnant’,” Gabriel snorted, “Our tempers had been flaring for a long time. I hated him for taking Overwatch away from me, even though I knew he didn’t really have a thing to do with it. I chafed in Blackwatch, even though I did a lot of good, in the beginning, and had a lot of people’s loyalty.”

“Like Jesse.”

“…yeah.” A dry swallow and a deep breath he doesn’t need settle Gabriel a bit. He considers how to say things. “After, though…I hated it all. I hated all of them. Something in me just snapped and all I wanted was to see anyone who was everyone in Overwatch burn.”

Hamilton’s expression was incredibly guarded. “Do you think some of that was a side effect from the untested Resurrection attempts Angela made on you?”

Gabriel couldn’t speak for a second. His mouth moved but nothing came out, until he forced himself to try again. “You…how long have you known?”

“I figured it out the night after Hana got hurt. I had a talk with Angela after neither of us could sleep, and put things together after she talked about the ‘aberrant reaction’ in her first attempt.” Alexander looked away, embarrassed. “Things…got a bit heated after that.”

Gabriel snorted, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils. “Heated. I guess that’s one way to describe how I felt.” He leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “I wish I could say it was all because of that. It’s a nice excuse…but it isn’t true. I’m not a victim, Hamilton.”

“Yes you are, Gabe.” He’s surprised by how much anger is in the older man’s voice. “You had an untested medical procedure performed on you, without your consent, and it had terrible consequences.  What you did or didn’t do before that doesn’t change the fact that you _are_ a victim.”

“You don’t know what I did.” His voice is barely audible, the harsh buzzing undertone he’s been trying to control more lately coming back sharp and thick as his emotions get the better of him. “I killed people. Broke people. Ruined so much…”

“I don’t, you’re right. But I know what it’s like to do things that you hate – things that destroy people – because it’s the only way to survive.”

“Sure, in between being George Washington’s _aide de camp_ and founding a country…”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Hamilton swung forward, leaning over the desk, “You have no idea what I was, long before then. You were a murderer? I was **worse.** ”

“What?” Gabriel actually finds himself drawing back from the sudden intensity of Hamilton’s anger, confused. “What do you mean, worse?”

“Think about the song,” Hamilton growled, “that little throwaway about my life before I went to New York.”

He has to think about what Hamilton is on about, but then the lightbulb goes off. “In charge of a trading charter?”

“Hah. That makes it sound so clean.” Hamilton popped up to his feet, pointing a thumb at his chest, pacing like a caged animal as he spoke. “I _sold slaves_ , Gabriel. Broke up families. Watched mothers _scream_ and beg with me as their children were taken away. Decided how much a man was worth because of his muscles, his trades, or his mind. Assigned a monetary value to how many future children a woman might bear.” The tinge of an accent in his voice thickened with his anger, and Gabriel suddenly realized how much of Hamilton’s anger at slavery was actually directed at himself. “I was a boy barely starting puberty, standing in judgement over people who might have easily been my own relatives.”

“…but you’re white.”

Hamilton stopped dead in his tracks, uttering a dark laugh before turning his head to stare wordlessly back over his shoulder.

_Oh._

“I never questioned how my mother put food on our table, after the man she married left us,” Hamilton’s voice was softer, but still full of venom, “but I heard whispers. Knew the way people looked at us. Heard men going in and out of her rooms. Do you think they were referring to me a whoreson or a bastard in the songs because those titles rhymed well?” He flung himself back into his chair, his eyes never leaving the floor.

 “I was white _enough_ ,” Alexander spat, “I passed. But part of me…” Shaking his head, Hamilton looked up, meeting Gabriel’s eyes. “I _knew_. Knew who I was - knew what I was doing, even before Herc and John really turned me into an abolitionist. I knew it was _wrong_. But it was that or die starving.”

Hamilton shuddered, seemed to shrink a bit as he pulled himself out of his memories, barely whispering. “So I know, Gabriel. I _know_.”

After a long silence, they really started to _talk_.

* * *

Gabriel was surprised at how much better he felt after he left the little office. Drained, and a bit like he’d scraped his own skull out from the inside, but oddly _clean_ , to go through all that pain and death, and receive, if not absolution, at least understanding and acceptance.

He found himself going up to his old spot at the top of the Watchpoint. He wished he had something to smoke, after all that. A nice cigar, maybe – not one of the stinky little things Jesse smoked, but a real proper _Cubano_. He didn’t smoke often, before, but when he had on very special occasions it had been one of those, and he missed the earthy smell of the hand wrapped tobacco and the fragrant clouds of smoke. Savoring the burn in his lungs and slowly exhaling…he tried to imagine it, but it just wasn't the same.

Somehow he could still take a deep breath and sigh even though he knew his lungs didn’t really do much these days.

Lost in thought, he hadn’t realized that someone else had sat down next to him until he heard a soft cough.

Angela was sitting there, wearing a pair of sweatpants with the Helix Security International logo running down the leg, and a plain black T-shirt. Her hair was in a ragged ponytail, dark shadows under her red and puffy eyes.

A tiny part of him thought about how easy it would be to just give her a light push, and send her plummeting down four stories, but after what he’d just gone through…no. He could do this. He could sit here and see what happened.

Angela looked over, realized he was watching her, and looked away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again, “I told you so many other things, afterward. But I never…I never just said _I’m sorry._ ”

He reached out, fingers shaking, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It was like I was losing my parents again. I felt so helpless – so _alone_ – and I thought I had a chance to save _someone_ this time, and I had to try…but I went too far. I got so obsessed on saving you for _my_ sake. Not what you wanted. Not what was _right._ ”

Gabriel just closed his eyes, and nodded. He wasn’t able to say anything more.

“I told Fareeha,” Angela admitted after another long silence, “She knew…she’d guessed some time ago…but she waited for me to tell her. I don’t understand how…how she could love me the way she does, knowing that the whole time.”

Gabriel didn’t realize he’d shifted closer until he’d drawn her into a hug. “Hey. Listen to me…I can’t promise I won’t still be angry at you, some days…but you…you were like our daughter, too. We got to watch you grow up just as much as we did Fareeha.”

His eyes close as he feels Angela slowly start to relax from the defensive position she’d assumed when his hands touched her, wetness staining his chest. “You can’t change what happened, but you did it out of love, ok? As fucked up as things went, and for all the mistakes we both made…you did it out of love. I’m starting to understand that. I think Fareeha always did.”

There’s a snuffling sniff of air against his chest and Gabriel wonders when he got so old. How these kids all _grew up_ while he was locked in his self-made Hell. Does Ana feel the same? Does Jack? Reinhardt? _Vales verga, Gabi._

“I really do want to help you,” Angela whispered, “I do. I can’t…I don’t think I can _fix_ it, or make it like before. But I believe I can _help_.”

“I’m not ready,” he murmured back, then pressed his forehead against hers, “but that isn’t your fault. That’s on me, all right? That’s a lifetime of being a guinea pig for the SEP, Talon, and everything else talking, and I’ve got to deal with that. But I want you to keep on it. Someday….it’ll come, ok? We’ll give it a shot.”

After a while, they stood. Angela hugged him, to his surprise. “I…I need to check on Hana. I’ve been keeping myself away from everyone else.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you – after she begs you to let her get out of the medbay.”

They shared a quiet laugh before Angela left.

Gabriel suddenly knew what he had to do next.

* * *

 **D.Va:** GUESS WHO’S BACK BITCHES

 **A.Ham:** Disco?

 **D.Va:** Ew, no.

 **D.Va:** You looked that up?

 **A.Ham:** Of course I did. That happens pretty much every time I talk to you.

 **D.Va:** ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

 **A.Ham:** Anyone else know you’re out of the infirmary? We could throw you a ‘Congratulations, you didn’t die” party.

 **D.Va:** I tried to tell Dad but he’s not answering his phone.

 **A.Ham:** I haven’t seen him or Gabriel around this evening, actually. They missed dinner.

 **D.Va:** They’re probably in a broom closet making out. So gross.

 **A.Ham:** I’ve seen the comic books you read.

 **A.Ham:** Don’t try to tell me you’re actually disgusted by two men kissing.

 **D.Va:** First, OMG get out of my stuff.

 **D.Va:** Second, yaoi boys are cute.

 **D.Va:** Old man makeouts are totally different, ew ew ew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, that was kind of balanced even. Are we maybe on the upswing back to happiness? We'll see...
> 
> (Oh, and I know I'm oversimplifying and playing fast and loose with the real history in this chapter, but, hey, so did Lin-Manuel at times. Go read the Chernow biography to get the big picture.)


	15. In The Greatest City In The World

Alexander had been surprised to get a request from Athena to meet Winston at his lab, but didn’t particularly mind.

Being that it was a Saturday, he’d been doing his best to honor the traditions of ‘the weekend’ that had been explained to him. He’d usually try reading something for pleasure, rather than research, and had a list of movies and television shows from every major culture that seemed to get longer no matter how much he watched.

( _Wuxia_ movies fascinated him. Westerns not so much. McCree had been very disappointed.)

Leaving his room, he didn’t think much of the fact that the dining and recreation areas were basically empty (many of the team members visited town on Saturdays, or engaged in their own personal errands), but was surprised to find a veritable quorum when he arrived at the lab.

Winston was there, of course, but also had Morrison, Gabriel, Angela, Hana, and Fareeha with him. Interesting. Judging by body language, Hana seemed determined and a bit upset, Angela apparently on her side, Fareeha guarded, Morrison sour, and Gabriel conflicted. Winston was a bit more difficult to read, but if he had to bet, he was more exasperated than anything else.                                                                                                                                              

“Good afternoon, everyone. Did I miss a memo?”

Winston snorted. “Not exactly. Come in, Alexander. We’re having a discussion and thought you might like to be involved in it.”

Hamilton decided to take a seat at his usual lab table, then raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly curious. What’s going on, exactly?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Due to some concerns I have with Hana’s recovery, I would like her to stay off of combat duty for another two to three weeks, at least.”

“Which sucks,” Hana interjected, “I’m fine.”

Angela gave the younger woman a look, then continued speaking. “Because I would like this restriction to actually be honored, I thought it might be good for her to get out of Gibraltar for a bit. Given her status, Hana is one of a handful of Overwatch agents who can travel reasonably freely.”

“As opposed to Jesse or Hanzo, who have active criminal warrants and bounties on their heads,” Alexander filled in, “I see the logic, but I’m confused about how I might be involved.”

“They want to go to New York,” Morrison explained, “which is a terrible idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Hana countered, “I have sponsors in the US who would be thrilled if I showed up, especially if I did some meet and greet events, maybe livestream events while I’m sightseeing, or a photoshoot with a few of their new products. Since you don’t think I should go back to Korea –“

“Since they would ALSO likely draft you into combat duty.” Angela’s eyes flashed, and Alexander had a feeling that had been an earlier argument.

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway. I could make a few calls, set a few things up. If you really want me off missions for a week or two, at least that way I’m doing something outside, since you’ve been yelling at me about streaming, too.”

“Sleep is important, Hana.” Morrison’s voice was somewhere between fondly exasperated and annoyed disbelief.”

“OK, Dad.”

“Back to the subject at hand,” Winston interrupted, “If Hana were to go, we’d want a few people to go with her as a bodyguard detail. Fareeha’s obvious, because of her experience with HSI. Angela has expressed an interest in going, while Ana, Lúcio, and Zenyatta take care of the medbay, and we thought you would appreciate the opportunity, based on the discussion last week.”

Alexander actually thinks about that for a moment. “Since the celebrations for the ‘tricentennial’ are still a few weeks out…I wouldn’t mind visiting without that added pressure.”

Morrison actually gives him a look. “Be honest – how much of your objections come down to the fact that they’re celebrating something that Jefferson wrote?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” Winston cleared his throat again, and Alexander held up a hand. “I would be happy to go, seriously. But if we’re talking about people who need to get out of the Watchpoint, I think Lena should be included.”

To his surprise, Angela shook her head. “Ordinarily I would agree with you, but there’s been a recent breakthrough in her attempts to reach Wid…Amélie. Removing her might compromise that, and taking Amélie with us simply isn’t on the table at this point.”

“Breakthrough?” Alexander sat a bit straighter, his curiosity piqued. “What kind?”

“We caught them making out,” Gabriel deadpanned, “two nights ago.”

Alexander frowned. “I had the impression Lena was respecting her boundaries better than that.”

“She was,” Morrison explained gruffly, “Widowmaker broke out of her cell – and into Lena’s bedroom.”

“….Oh.” Hamilton couldn’t say much beyond that.

“Which also brings up the possibility that if we DID force Lena to go, Amélie might well try to follow,” Winston admitted, “so best not to borrow any of that trouble.”

Fareeha took up the challenge of getting the discussion back on track. “I have a few favors I can call in at Helix to set up bodyguard credentials for some of us, to help ease customs and immigration issues. D.Va traveling with a private detail for an entourage, since we aren’t bringing her MEKA, is reasonably good cover.”

“Since you’re concerned about the risks involved,” Winston looked to Morrison, “I thought I would ask you to go, ‘76’.”

Morrison shifted a bit uncomfortably, but didn’t object.

“Just call him Jack, Winston. Everyone’s figured it out already.” Gabriel looked over to nod to Alexander. “Even him.”

“Oh. Well, then…” Winston shifted a bit. “Fine. I’d like Jack to go along, and Gabriel has also asked to join you.”

“I’d welcome both of your company,” Alexander agreed, “but aren’t you both at risk to be recognized? To say nothing of Gabriel being somewhat…undead.”

“I really wish Lena hadn’t shown you those Dracula movies,” Gabriel grumbled, “but no. If we take a private flight, I can wraith around pretty much all of the security.”

“If I’m dressed in a suit with sunglasses and a comm earpiece, I’ll look like half a dozen other private security guys out there,” Morrison admitted, “and I have plenty of experience with smuggling the rest of my gear in and out of places by now.”

“Well,” Alexander looked to Winston, “as long as you can get me some papers, I think we have a plan.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe Winston decided to give me a passport that claims I’m ‘Alexander Miranda’, Hamilton grumbled as they waited to deplane, “Isn’t that a bit on the nose?”

“Says the man who originally suggested ‘George Burr’.” Jack’s voice had a certain resigned amusement to it.

“Phillip Laurens, after that,” Fareeha put in as she hoisted a heavy looking rucksack, “and ‘Publius Mulligan’ was just ridiculous. Nobody hates their kids that much in this century.”

“At least this way your first name will be familiar,” Angela noted, “you’re used to responding to it. That’s important when undercover.”

“Hmmm.”

Customs proved to be completely uneventful, though Alexander did feel a pang when he saw the line leading to the door marked ‘immigration.’ All these years later, America still opened her arms to people looking for a new start. It didn’t take long for that train of thought to get him a bit misty.

“So,” he asked once they’d regrouped with everyone, “is there a plan?”

“I’ve got a hotel set up for us,” Hana answered, “the Crosby Street, in Midtown. It’s been arranged so we’ll have a VIP floor to ourselves.”

“Jack and I will do a standard sweep,” Fareeha picked up, “cameras, microphones, the lot. Once we’re sure it’s secured, everyone else comes up and we’ll get settled in. Pretty normal procedure for an escort job like this.”

“What do the rest of us do while you’re taking care of that?”

“Same thing most New Yorkers do,” Gabriel noted dryly, “go eat a hot dog and find a place to get coffee.”

They in fact did just that, though Hana claimed the sausages were ‘totally made of rats’ and opted for a pretzel instead. Once the all clear came through, the ‘entourage’ settled themselves before meeting in the large front room of Hana’s suite.

Fareeha took charge again, Jack and Gabriel deferring to her while she was ‘in her element.’ “Since you’re the one who has some personal stake in this visit, Alexander, I thought I’d ask if you had any sort of itinerary. The rest of us can build our schedules around you and Hana, once she knows what her professional commitments will be. I’d prefer that no one leaves the hotel alone – ideally we go out as a group of 3 or more if we can.”

“A few places.” Alexander admitted as he looked out the floor to ceiling windows. Manhattan was almost unrecognizable, but at the same time the energy here…that electric current of people and ideas constantly in the air? That felt very much the same. “I’d like to visit Graham Windham. Wall Street, perhaps, though I doubt they’d let me in to my bank or the Stock Exchange.”

“Not really your bank these days, anyway.” Gabriel smiled wryly, his hoodie pulled back. “Andrew Jackson –“

“Was a worthless son of a bitch, as far as I can tell,” Alexander sighed, “yeah, I read about it. It’s still my bank. I made it.”

“Want a tour of the _Post_ , too?”

“Do they offer one?”

“We can check.”

Fareeha made a few notes on her phone, then nodded. “OK. I’m going to assume…you have a few graves to visit.”

“Not for a day or two,” Alexander hedged, “I need to work myself up. I thought I might go out to Princeton and visit Burr, first.”

“Really?” Angela’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her scalp. “That surprises me.”

“We have a lot to catch up on,” Alexander smiled sadly, “and it’ll be a way to ease into things.”

Fareeha let that slide with a nod. “OK, anything else?”

Alexander shook his head. “I’ll let everyone know if I think of something.”

“Hana, when do you expect to get your schedule?”

“Tomorrow, probably. My agent left a voicemail while we were getting off the plane and said they’re trying to lock in a couple of venues today.”

“Good enough. Please let us know when you do, so we can talk about the best way to cover everything.” Tucking her phone back into the suit jacket she’d put on as part of her professional persona, Fareeha grinned, suddenly looking five years younger. “Are we ordering Pizza tonight for dinner, or Chinese?”

The pizza ended up being much larger than the ones that were occasionally made for dinners at the Watchpoint, and Alexander enjoyed the slightly more pliable crust, especially once shown how to fold it and 'eat it like a local.'

“It’s OK,” Jack conceded as they ate, “but it’s not _real_  Pizza.”

“Jack,” Gabriel warned, “you’ve been trying to make that argument for 30 years, _cariño._ ”

“Deep dish,” Morrison declared flatly, “is real Pizza. My parents took us on trips to Chicago every summer when I was a kid. That’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

Alexander found himself bristling in defense of his hometown cuisine almost by reflex. “I think this is excellent, personally. One slice is enough to satisfy, two a filling meal. The ability to fold it makes it easier to eat while walking or trying to work, and it’s not excessively heavy.”

“Do not even start,” Gabriel warned, “either of you. Christ. Hamilton, you’ve been back here for less than six hours and you’re already fitting in.”

“You say that like I ever stopped being a New Yorker.” Alexander couldn’t help but grin.

"You're from LA, anyway," Jack grumbled at Gabriel, "you should be on my side here."

"If I have to shut up about tacos and let people eat those stupid corn shells instead of proper tortillas, you need to stop about the pizza." Gabriel crossed his arms and set his jaw, though Alexander noticed his eyes were dancing. "We are NOT calling Gibraltar to make Ana referee this again."

Hana buried her head in her hands. “I cannot even with you guys. I’m officially demanding the Mom Squad when we go out.”

Things degenerated fairly swiftly from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to do the visit to NYC as one big chapter, but I decided this was a pretty good stopping point. Expect to see more. :)
> 
> I've been trying to alternate POVs between Hamilton and the other characters by chapter, but due to the nature of this we're probably going to stick with Alex until the team is back on familiar ground.


	16. They Say He Walks the Length of the City

After a few days in New York spent mostly keeping an eye on Hana as she met with sponsors, reviewed a clothing line, and did a few photoshoots at iconic locations (Alexander had spent the better part of one day between Liberty and Ellis Islands, with Gabriel and Jack his quiet shadows, in awe of the entire experience), Alexander had decided he was ready to begin dealing with his past.

He’d actually been surprised by how at ease he’d felt walking the grounds at Graham Windham and visiting the small museum the organization operated out of the preserved building that had once been the Orphan Asylum’s home on Bank Street. Jack and Gabriel gave him space – in fact, he barely registered their presence – but it was interesting, rather than traumatic. No memories there, no ghosts, no pain, aside from a moment where he’d turned a corner and found himself staring into Betsey’s eyes, calming gazing out from a portrait he’d commissioned.

She’d been so happy when he’d shown her the letter confirming the arrangements.

His fingers trembled when he carefully touched the frame.

_I am so proud of you, Betsey._

A security guard’s polite cough broke that spell, and Alexander had stepped back, turning away and continuing down the corridor.

* * *

The visit to Princeton was equally low key. Very few buildings had survived from his time, and the campus itself was larger. Wearing a light blazer, ‘business casual’ clothes, and carrying a briefcase, he hardly drew any attention at all. Most probably assumed he was a visiting professor doing research at the library, or perhaps a parent getting a better look at the school. He’d seen Jack and Gabriel leaving the train after their ride out of the City, but they’d both proven adept at disappearing into crowds when they sensed he needed it. He’d been amused to find the administration building reconstructed since 1776, but the bursar’s office still where he’d left it.

He’d looked up a map of the Princeton Cemetery to help guide him to his destination. The worn stone marker was just barely readable when he’d reached it, but a bronze plaque set in front of the grave still gleamed in the June afternoon light.

“Aaron Burr, Sir.” Alexander carefully lowered himself onto the ground, then opened the briefcase. “I thought it would be good for me to stop by.”

He pulled a large bottle of hard cider from the briefcase, and unwrapped protective packaging from a pint glass he’d purchased along with it. “I thought about a bottle of red but you remember how I got after a few glasses. Besides, you'd never let on, but I could always tell you preferred this to beer. Nurse a pint of ale all night, but need your cider refilled after each conversation? You weren’t always so subtle.”

He popped the cap, then filled his glass in silence before taking a sip. “Not bad. It’s from a cidery upstate.” He placed the bottle on the base of the marker, then raised his glass. “I miss you. I miss everyone, really, but I keep thinking you’d handle so much of this better than I have. Smile that damned smile of yours until you decided exactly what to do, and accomplish it with the minimum of effort for the maximum impact. As usual.”

Alexander took another drink, his thoughts whirling. “I’m sorry about Theo. I read about what happened. I like to think she and Phillip are somewhere yelling at both of us, honestly. Though I suppose you’re probably watching me now and just shaking your head at what a damn fool I am.” It really was quite good cider.

“There’s a play about me now. Well, it’s got my name in the title, but it’s really about us, down to the bones. Just like it always was. You’re the narrator. I think you’d have liked that. They’re pretty honest about both of our blemishes, and our successes.” How did the glass get half empty so quickly?

“I’m sorry I let things get as bad as they did. Part of me was still grieving, and the rest…I let myself pretend that you wouldn’t care. That you’d brush it off your back as you always did.” Was the glass empty already? “I hope you don’t mind if I steal a little of yours for a refill. Thanks. Very kind of you, sir. Where was…ah, yeah. Anyway…I just didn’t understand how much pressure I’d really put on you. So I didn’t try to offer a clarification or a correction. I just it keep festering until finally...well. Here we are.”

He set the glass down to run his fingers back through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts. “Though let’s be honest – you did yourself no favors when you went back on that little handshake deal you made with Jefferson. Which I knew about, by the way. Either Mr. Miranda didn’t, or he was kind enough NOT to include that in his libretto. You should thank him.”

Alexander shook his head, sighing. “Work to get the Northern states’ electors to back you over Adams, and Jefferson over Pickney, while Jefferson did the reverse in the South, and then hand your delegates to Jefferson in exchange for the Vice-Presidency. But you got greedy once it got close, didn’t you? You son of a bitch. You just HAD to try to work an angle once you knew it existed. Is it any wonder that your reputation carried a stain afterwards?”

Damn, how was his glass half empty again already?

“You always were my friend, though. God, how fucked up is that? Even as we were getting ready to SHOOT each other, Christ! You dumb fucker. Couldn’t you have waited another second?”

The glass was almost empty again.

“It would be rude to ask you for another refill, and I’ll have to walk back to the train station soon anyway. Wouldn’t do to be a drunkard. Wait – trains. Did you start to see those, before you passed? I seem to recall they’d begun to make an impact by then, when I read about them. Remarkable, the way they changed things…even better now. It’s so damn strange to think you died so long ago, and I’m still here. That I still can’t seem to die.”

“I think part of me wants to. Die, I mean. Always did, since my mother’s arms fell slack and I smelled death for the first time. The rest of me…I have to go on, don’t I? For her. For John. For Phillip. For Betsey. For you. For all of you. God, I miss you all. I said it already but it’s so painfully true. “Gabriel, Angela, Winston, Hana, everyone…they’re trying. They are. I appreciate it. But so many days I just feel like an echo walking through the world. Nothing’s where it’s supposed to be.”

Alexander drained the dregs of his glass, then set it on the marker next to the bottle. “Keep that one. I’ve no idea when I’ll be able to visit again, but I’ll try to bring something for you when I do.” He levered himself up and brushed grass from his trousers, then gently placed a hand at the top of the gravestone. “I don’t even know if I tell you ‘goodbye’, or ‘I’ll see you again’, or…just…I’m sorry. I said it already, but it’s true. I forgive you. I would do quite a lot of things differently, if somehow I had the chance.”

Jack and Gabriel were waiting for him at the cemetery’s gate. They didn’t try to engage him in much conversation, and when he got back to the hotel they’d carefully talked around his day, with Hana offering a cheerfully detailed explanation of the outfits she’d been asked to approve and the photoshoot she’d done in Midtown, and Fareeha grumbling occasionally about the lax perimeter there.

Angela had arranged for food from a Jamaican restaurant for dinner, to his surprise. It was nice to have flavors that reminded him of his childhood. Curried goat, fresh fish, and spicy stewed chicken circulated around the room, filling it with heavenly aromas. The meal and the light conversation helped him to not dwell in his melancholy, and his mood had lifted when they’d gone out for a bit of late night sightseeing.

Hana’s suggestion of joining a tour of the Empire State Building had interested him, and once they’d arrived on the top floor balcony, seeing the city dancing in lights around him was stunning, if a bit unnerving.

“Man was not meant for such a height,” he found himself mumbling as he grimly held on to the observation deck rail, “flying wasn’t so bad – I was just sitting and enjoying the view – but this…” His stomach lurched, and he made the mistake of looking down, rather than out. He felt as if he was in danger of sliding off the very earth when a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“It can be a bit much,” Angela agreed, understanding, “if you wanted to go back inside, we could meet you there.”

“I think I should,” Alexander conceded, “thank you.”

* * *

He knew Jack and Fareeha wouldn’t be happy at what he’d decided to do the next morning, but Alexander wanted – needed – to do this alone. As soon as his alarm went off, he showered, dressed, and quietly slipped out of the hotel just as the sun began to rise.

The walk down to Trinity wasn’t bad at all. A mile and a half hadn’t been a difficult walk for him in his first life, and the streets of Manhattan hadn’t changed so much in that time. He’d picked up a coffee, then visited a florist near the church to purchase three small bouquets, carefully cradling the flowers within their paper cones as he left the shop.

The churchyard gates had been opened, and a few other people quietly moved about the cemetery grounds. He wondered if they’d come to visit ancestors and loved ones, or were visiting the historical dead out of respect or curiosity. He was sure he appeared to be one of the latter as he quietly trod towards the plot he’d picked out with Eliza a few years after they’d been married, never expecting to use it so quickly.

His first stop was in the next row of plots down from the Hamilton family graves.

Kneeling down, he gently placed the first bouquet on the marker. Tea roses, chrysanthemum, and purple hyacinth bound together for Angelica Schuyler Church.

“You would like it here,” he whispered softly, “to live in a time where your sex was no restriction on your gifts.” Despite the ache in his heart, he had to laugh softly. “Honestly, you never let that stop you anyway, but you’d truly be a holy terror today.”

Phillip’s grave was next. Alexander stood at the foot of the marker, remembering when the marble had been freshly cut, the stone slick and cold as they’d placed it into the freshly turned earth. Today It was weatherbeaten and worn, but the grounds still cared for, preserved as best as possible from time’s slow march. His bouquet was marigold and daisies, with a few rosebuds at the sides.

“Fathers should never bury their sons.” Alexander murmured, gently placing his fingertips on the marker. “I promise that one day I’ll be home. Look after your sisters and your brothers until then, and don’t give your mother too much trouble.”

His own marker sat beside Phillip’s, and he noticed a few different flowers and cards left at the base of the massive stone obelisk that had been erected in his memory. Offerings from fans of the musical, he supposed. He wondered if his body still lay there, or if the violation of natural laws that had been used to bring him to this time and place left his coffin empty.

When he died again, someday, would they return him here? Or would he be a single man with two separate resting places, linked across time? The thoughts were difficult to grasp. It would probably be wiser if he was buried elsewhere, to preserve the secrets and mysteries of his return to the living, but a part of him wanted to rest here, as they’d intended.

Eliza’s marker beside him was almost painfully simple compared to his ornate grave.

**ELIZA**

Daughter of **PHILIP SCHUYLER**

Widow of

**ALEXANDER HAMILTON**

Born at Albany – August 9th 1757

Died at Washington – November 9 1854

** INTERRED HERE **

Nothing of her achievements. No mention of her acts of kindness and charity. Nothing but that simple statement of her existence.

Alexander wondered if she’d deliberately arranged it that way. Still trying to tell his story and call attention to the good he’d done in life, while quietly keeping herself in the shadows.

Much like his marker, there were a few flowers and cards left by visitors, and as he gently laid down his own offering of a single crimson rose in full bloom, wrapped in sweet pea and red carnations, one handwritten note that had been folded shut fluttered open in the breeze, handwritten lyrics from the play striking him as if the words had fallen from her true lips.

_And When My Time Is Up / Have I Done Enough?_

He’d thought he was ready for this, had looked at pictures of the grave on his tablet as he’d prepared himself, but the reality of it all came crashing down on him, and he could not stop the tears as they fell against the white marble.

“You did so much more than enough, Betsey,” his voice cracking on her name, “more than I ever deserved.”

He tried to say more, wanted to beg forgiveness for being such a lout of a husband that he couldn’t even _stay dead_ when she finally came to join him, to tell her how in awe he was of the legacy she’d built for herself, but the words didn’t come. All he could manage was a low wordless cry of grief as he sank to the ground, eyes closing as the pain overwhelmed him again.

When a hand gently came to rest on his shoulder, he’d half expected it to be one of the church deacons, or perhaps a police officer, called for this madman making a scene at the grave of a woman gone two hundred years and more.

Fareeha didn’t say a word when he looked up, just closed her eyes for a moment to mourn with him. When she helped him stand, he saw the others quietly waiting a few feet away, faces filled with concern. Joining them after a moment, he held up a hand.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to go out alone, but I needed…” His voice trailed off, unable to quite express it all.

“Consider the subject closed,” Fareeha reassured him softly, “did you have breakfast yet?”

Alexander gave her a grateful nod before answering her question: “No, just coffee.”

“You’re as bad as Angela,” she said quietly, putting a hand on his back to gently lead him towards the churchyard gate, “Let’s go have something to eat, OK?”

“OK.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meaning of the bouquets: 
> 
> Tea roses, Chrysanthemum, and Purple Hyacinth: Remembrance and Sorrow for a Faithful Friend
> 
> Marigold, Daisies, and Rosebuds: Grief and Love for Youth and Innocence
> 
> Crimson rose in Full Bloom, Sweet Pea, and Red Carnations: My Heart Aches in Mourning for You, My Love.
> 
> (Yes, that is the actual text of Eliza's tombstone.)


	17. Seize The Moment And Stay In It

For the third time in his life, Alexander Hamilton stood in the eye of a hurricane.

Standing in the middle of Winston’s lab, the founding father and the scientist watched news feeds as they were snapped up on every monitor by Athena as the situation developed.

_Breaking news from Novosibirsk in the Russian –_

_\- on Volskaya Industries, producers of the Svyatogor combat platforms that have proven critical to containing the Siberian Omnium –_

_\- reports began of a combined assault from rogue Omnic forces and soldiers of the terrorist organization known as “Talon”-_

_\- footage from factory employees and citizens living nearby showing members of the disbanded UN organization OVERWATCH working with Russian Defense Force squads to help reclaim –_

_\- UN Security Council has released a statement that the PETRAS act remains in place and all Overwatch activity is considered illegal –_

_\- Warrants have been issued by INTERPOL for the arrest of Dr. Angela Ziegler, formerly known as “Mercy”, former Overwatch member Hauptmann Reinhardt Wilhelm of the Bundeswehr, Sergeant Aleksandra Zaryanova of the Russian Defense Force, and the vigilantes known only as “Reaper” and “Soldier: 76” for their role in the defense of the factory –_

_-Russian defense minister Piotr Kosigan has lodged a formal complaint with the United Nations for their decision to prosecute –_

_-Current polls show over 59% of adults between the ages of 25 and 40 are in favor of the return of Overwatch –_

_-CEO of Volskaya Industries issued a statement thanking the heroes of Overwatch and calling for the repeal of the PETRAS act –_

_-the question is, even though they saved lives today, can they be trusted again?_

“Well, that’s torn it,” Lena noted as she walked through the door, her eyes flicking between screens. “Bloody hell.”

Winston grunted. “We knew something like this would happen eventually. We’ve been trying to fight in the shadows – it was only a matter of time before something got big enough to drag it back into the light.”

Alexander was standing, stock still, as the information continued to flow in, his mind whirling.

The emergency call had gone out from the RDF garrison at Volskaya six hours ago. Aleksandra had immediately demanded they move out, and once it had become clear that Talon had brought what was essentially a small army to the field, Winston had agreed. What had been planned as a quick strike to help take the pressure off of the defenders became a pitched battle as both Talon and RDF reinforcements had poured into the factory complex.

Hopes of remaining covert had been dashed by news camera crew footage and phone uploads from civilians recording on their phones going viral almost instantly.

Angela descending on golden wings to pull a family away from a collapsing building.

Reinhardt using his shield to provide cover for a squad of RDF commandos as they advanced through a chokepoint, bullets from Talon rifles sparking as they ricocheted off the glowing barrier.

Aleksandra screaming defiance from the shoulder of a Svyatogor as she fired blasts from her particle cannon into a group of omnics with shining red eyes.

Shaky handheld camerawork trying to follow the distinctive shapes of Jack and Gabriel as they weaved between storage containers and corridors on a factory floor, the white haired man providing covering fire while the black shade appeared on the flanks of the Talon occupiers, blasting them with shotguns and flushing them out of their cover.

The team who had helped to relieve Volskaya had very quietly stopped in Moscow to refuel at Kubinka Air Base. The Orca’s stealth capabilities would keep them from being intercepted on their way back to Gibraltar, but after that, things would get very complicated. It was an open secret that Overwatch had been operating there since the Recall. Even if certain members of the UN had encouraged turning a blind eye, they had also expected a certain level of discretion in return…and now that was gone.

Lena sighed, puffing some of her stray locks away from her face. “So, what now?”

To her surprise, it was Alexander who answered: “We write our way out.”

Winston frowned. “I seem to recall that didn’t work so well the last time you tried it.”

Alexander snorted. “Yeah, well, it turns out ‘I was the sole survivor of a hurricane’ is a lot better way to get sympathy than ‘Hey, I didn’t steal your money, I just cheated on my wife.’” Turning, he waved to the screens. “The world is watching. If I can crib – History has its eyes on us, RIGHT now. We can see the tide of public opinion, and I think we can bring it to our side, but it has to be now, Winston. If we wait and let that tide turn, we’ll drown beneath it.”

There was a long silence while Winston thought about that, then he nodded thoughtfully. “I can see it. But can you write something before the Orca gets back? Because once the UN confirms Angela and the others are here…it won’t take them long to move.”

Alexander smiled. “Athena?”

The AI’s voice chimed in: “Yes, Alexander?”

“Load Publius, please.”

There was a chime, and the lab’s central monitor changed from the ZNN feed to display a fairly simple blog layout, tastefully decorated to match a sheet of parchment with slightly stylized black print.

** On The Rights of Thinking Beings and the Demands of Security in Our Modern World **

_The modern world is characterized not by the divides of Nation or Creed, but a split that begins at one question: Man, or Machine?_

_Many suggest that humanity are superior to their Omnic neighbors, yet we have seen in recent years that the Omnics that many claim are “nothing more than programming” have demonstrated the ability to grow, change, and reason in unexpected and unpredictable ways. In this, the words of the late Tekhartha Mondatta ring true: Human and Omnic are One, not merely within the Iris in the faith of the Shambali, but by the bonds of creatures capable of seeing the world around them, to imagine something greater, and acting to shape it in ways that they believe will lead to a better future for themselves and their descendants._

_During the first Omnic crisis, Overwatch was formed from the Best, Bravest, and Brightest, and given the power and authority to act as they saw fit to stop the threat of the God Programs that worked tirelessly to crush all life, organic or digital, that failed to bend to their will. Divorced from the shackles of tradition and nationalism, Overwatch acted to protect the world as a whole, and thanks to their efforts, both Man and Omnic believed the world would enter a new era of peace._

_They were wrong._

_Though many acted with the best of intention, it became clear that Greed, Blind Self Interest, and the desire to gather Power would shape the course of the world once more, and even Overwatch was not immune to their influence._

_As they fell, the world fell with them._

_Our modern world is beset by threats ranging from the potentially cataclysmic return of the God Programs to the simple, if insidious, drive of Corporate Greed._

_Who, then, can act with a hope of protecting us?_

_It is increasingly clear that the world requires a force not tied to Construction, Corporation, or Nation. That even the relatively benign influence of the United Nations leaves room for far too much to slip through the cracks. That shadow wars and secret agendas can become all too public and all too real at any time._

_The world, as they say, needs more heroes._

_But those heroes must be free to act as they see fit, in the interests of All People, not merely those in a position of influence…_

Winston blinked as he read the text that scrolled slowly across the screen, then looked to back to Hamilton.

“You…you already had this written?”

Alexander couldn’t help the fierce grin on his face. “Of course I did. What did you think I was doing with everything I’d learned?”

Winston’s shrug was about the only admission he would give to that being a stupid question. “So if I understand this right…you’re not calling for Overwatch to be reinstated?”

“Correct. Reinstatement simply makes you an arm of the Security Council and the rest of the UN, and there’s many reasons why that came to a bad end. What is needed now is for Overwatch to be _recognized_ – legitimized! - And given a truly global mandate, free of agenda or influence. That’s what we push for – that’s how we make this _work._ ” Alexander was pacing now, feeling as if a spring was being tightened in his spine. “For you – for US – it’s the only way. We have to get the idea out, and fan the flames these sparks will create. Thanks to Hana’s tutelage, I’ve got a pretty good grasp on the best ways to publish and promote this, and to get as much attention as possible in the shortest time. But you said it yourself – we don’t have a lot of time.”

Alexander stopped, drawing himself in, and looked to his new friends, his voice grave. “Publish or Perish, Winston. This is the moment.”

Winston was the one sitting with an almost unnatural stillness now, lost in thought. Lena had come up to put a hand on his shoulder, and Alexander waited, while the scientist thought it all over. Finally, he turned, his voice soft and filed with emotion. “We have to dare to see the world for what it could be.”

Alexander nodded, and looked up to the ceiling. “Then let’s go.”


	18. I Picked Up A Pen, I Wrote My Own Deliverance

In lieu of their usual post-mission debrief after the Volskaya team had landed back at Gibraltar, Winston had asked everyone to clean up and then meet in the rec room.

To Gabriel’s surprise, when he’d said ‘everyone’, he apparently meant it. Even the Bastion unit they’d ‘adopted’, Reinhardt’s armorer, and Amélie were there, the latter wearing a black sweater and tights in light of her ‘not entirely rehabilitated, but not exactly a prisoner’ status.

Gabriel offered a nod to her, then settled onto one of the couches next to Reinhardt and Ana.

“Nice work today, Gabriel.” Ana smiled wistfully. “I feel a bit left out, though. Everyone else got an arrest warrant!”

Reinhardt’s chuckle almost drowned out Gabriel’s soft snort. “All things considered, I’d say that means you did your job right.” Then, looking to where Lena had settled next to her blue skinned lover, he gave a slight nod. “Doing OK with Amélie being here?”

The Egyptian shrugged, her thick braid bouncing off her shoulder. “I’m working on it. Part of me still holds on to some anger for Gérard – and myself – but Lena has a better claim to revenge for his sake. From the little that I’ve spoken to Lena privately…it’s clear that Amélie wasn’t really a willing participant in anything Talon commanded her to do. I’m keeping that in mind. Fareeha, on the other hand…”

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, she never did know how to let go of a grudge when she was growing up.”

“I wonder who she could have learned that from,” Reinhardt mused with a raised eyebrow at his former commander, “but I’m sure Angela will do her best to help balance her.”

Before they could go much further down that path, Jack had arrived, filling the last seat of the couch, and Winston and Alexander followed, the door shutting behind them with a surprisingly final sound.

They stood on either side of the big TV, which Athena had changed to the Overwatch logo, and Winston took a quick sweeping look to make sure they had everyone being here, then began to speak.

“Hello, everyone. For those of you who have been in transit back from Russia for most of the past day, we’ve been reacting to the aftermath at the battle at Volskaya, and monitoring the developing global situation.”

A quadrant of display screen began to display some of the more lurid headlines from the last 12 hours, while another showed a running track of public opinion polls on the return of Overwatch.

“In response to the public outcry – for and against us – Alexander began to release some of the essays he’s been composing privately on the state of the world, and the role that Overwatch could play in protecting it.” Winston paused, as Athena updated the polls to show the results of Alexander’s essays – many of them sharply trending towards a positive opinion of Overwatch.

“You’re probably aware of this, but arrest warrants were issued for everyone who was confirmed on video at Volskaya for violation of the PETRAS act. Along the same lines, pretty much every known surviving member of Overwatch was listed as a ‘person of interest’.”

Athena displayed the “WANTED” graphics for each of them in turn. Gabriel was a bit amused that all they had for him and Jack were blurry images of them from the fight.

Angela raised a hand. “Winston, were warrants or arrest orders issued for Hana, Lúcio, or Satya?”

“No. Fareeha, Zenyatta, and Hanzo are also in the clear – at least for this. I’m afraid your existing criminal charges are still out there.”

Hanzo nodded, waving a hand. He’d expected nothing less.

“That’s interesting,” Fareeha mused, “since Hana’s streams have shown her working with Overwatch members, and the rest of us.”

“Plausible deniability,” Winston smiled, “but if I can get back to the matter at hand?”

The others settled, and the screen changed to a live look at the Watchpoint perimeter, where Athena highlighted camera drones and heat signatures beginning to surround the base.

“As you see,” Winston pointed to the screen, “more than a few news agencies are sniffing around, and INTERPOL assets are making an effort to determine what we’re doing right now. But they’re not taking action, even though the Orca’s return obviously made it clear that this is where we’ve been operating from.”

“So, what, are we just waiting for them to make the next move?” McCree rolled his (unlit, thank you _mijo)_ cigar around his mouth. “Seems to me we’re letting ourselves get hemmed in.”

“There’s waiting,” Alexander replied, “and then there is _waiting_. What we’ve been doing is more the latter. We’ve kept our heads down, but we haven’t been idle.”

Winston nodded, taking back over. “For the past six hours I’ve been speaking to as many of the unofficial channels I could reach, and calling in every favor I’ve been able to find, while Alexander has been assembling something that we can present to the world. Not just a simple explanation or history – but what I can only call a _mandate_. Which is why we’re here right now.”

The display blanked, and changed to display a document:

**_ Overwatch International Security Accords _ **

“I won’t take everyone’s time making you read it all right now,” Winston explained, “but I do want to explain what this _is_ , roughly, and I do encourage everyone to read it on their own time. Alexander?”

Hamilton nodded. “One of the key trends we identified as I got my work out there – with help from Hana and Lúcio – was that public opinion has been steadily growing in favor of the return of Overwatch, but _not as an arm of the UN._ Which, if I can be honest, is a sentiment I’ve been encouraging.” Turning, the founding father waved to the screen, slowly scrolling through the text of the legal document.

“This is a document that we’re preparing to present to the UN through one of several possible channels. We’ve quietly circulated this draft to the Russian Ambassador to the UN, Her Majesty’s Foreign Office, the Numbani City Speaker, Katya Volskaya, and a few other VIPs to ensure we would have their support. The responses have been very positive – and I believe the public sentiment will be as well.”

“So if we’re not acting as an arm of the UN,” Gabriel interrupted, “how do we get funding? What keeps us from being arrested? How does it change from what we’re doing now?”

“I’m so happy you asked that, Gabriel!” Alexander’s grin threatened to split his face. “The core of the accords is that we establish Overwatch as an independent peacekeeping organization that is funded through donations from the signatory nations – but with the understanding that while we will be accountable for our actions, that financial support does not give them the right to dictate how Overwatch will operate.” Starting to pace as he opens his arms, the resurrected man was clearly on a roll. “In exchange, Overwatch commits to act to stop acts of terror, provide disaster response, and address major security incidents should they occur with the consent of those signatory nations, and in the case of disputes between signatories, to attempt to act as a mediator.”

“In short,” Hamilton expanded, “we keep doing what we’re doing, and we go where WE decide to go. If we see a situation developing in a non-signatory nation, there’s provisions in this document to formally request they allow us access to help to address the problem, no matter what it may be, without requiring them to sign – though obviously that would help.”

“That’s a lot of ‘We’ I’m hearing,” Jack noted dryly, and Gabriel smiled at the familiar tone, “Wasn’t aware you’d been field rated.”

“I’m not,” Alexander admitted, “but you…all of you…are basically my family now. I can help – I WANT to help - and even if my law license IS bit out of date, thanks to Athena and a few weeks of study, I caught up pretty quickly while working to draft these agreements. So, yeah…I’m in. If you’ll have me.”

The spontaneous outburst of cheers was its own answer.

Winston waited for everyone to settle, then raised a hand. “The reason I wanted everyone here is because this changes the game, and in a way that I want to make sure we will all be on board with, as a united front.” Straightening so he could face everyone, was clearly taking a moment to consider what he was going to say.

“This isn’t just about going public. This will mean standing up in front of the entire world and declaring who we are, and what we’re doing – that we’re going to put ourselves on the line for everyone and anyone who will let us.”

Slipping off his glasses, Winston swept a sober look across the room. “I initiated the Recall because I believe that with the ability to make a difference comes the responsibility to act. As much as I believe in seeing the world as it _could_ be, it also takes someone willing to _do something_ to achieve that. What we’re proposing is a big step forward – but I believe it has to be a unanimous decision, and I’m not going to force anyone who decides they’re uncomfortable with this direction to stay.”

“Let’s say we go ahead with this,” Jesse drawled from where he was sitting (though Gabriel noted he’d gone from lounging back on the couch to sitting up on the edge of his seat), “I’m gonna just say it to get things out of the way – Blackwatch. How do we answer for that? How do things that aren’t so nice if we think it might need done?”

Winston sighed, but he’d clearly been expecting that. “In terms of what came before, we’ve answered for it enough, I believe, but if any past Blackwatch operations have an impact on our future, or if they had unintended consequences that come to light, then we are transparent, and we are honest. We take our medicine, and we move forward, because that’s the only way this will work.”

That got nods from around the room, including one from McCree.

“Beyond that, Overwatch will deploy special operations forces for counterterrorism and mission profiles like hostage rescue and reconnaissance, but it will be drawn from active Overwatch agents, not maintained as a separate organization. It will be answerable to the command staff of the organization, and they in turn will be accountable to signatory nations.”

Jesse nodded, satisfied by that, but had one more question: “And the small matter of the prices on the head of…about half the room?”

“Part of the accords involves amnesty for all extant Overwatch members at the time of signing for acts performed while a member of the organization,” Alexander answered, “and a special pardon for acts committed by others who were either under exceptional duress – “ his eyes flicked to Amélie – “or who have paid their debt to society by their actions on behalf of the organization.” Hamilton locked eyes with Hanzo, and the archer gave a slow nod of his head.

“So, there you have it. No more running. No more hiding. We step into the light – and we take our chances. Together.” Winston replaced his glasses, then smiled. “Are you in?”

There was a long moment of silence.

The first to stand and applaud was Reinhardt.

The first to stand and salute, to Gabriel’s surprise, was _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! 
> 
> Remember when this just started as a piece of fluffy crack that was probably going to be two, maybe three chapters? 
> 
> This is where we're going to leave this particular bent in the possible OW universes out there, for now, but as I've said about some of my other stories, I wouldn't be surprised if they've got a few more things for me to share with you. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has come along for this ride. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
